


Trusting a God

by LilithsLullaby



Series: Trust Me [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry Sex, Chains, Collars, Dom/sub, Drinking to Cope, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, From Sex to Love, Genderfluid Loki (Marvel), King Loki (Marvel), Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Loki clone sex, Loss of Virginity, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Orgy, Porn With Plot, Post-Avengers (2012), Public Sex, Sakaar (Marvel), Self-Insert, Sex Slave, Shameless Smut, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-03-04 04:09:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 59
Words: 115,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13356198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilithsLullaby/pseuds/LilithsLullaby
Summary: When you and Loki find yourselves trapped on Sakaar, you must learn to put your trust in the God of Mischief if you hope to make it out alive.(AU - Post Dark World: in which Hela/Ragnorak do not exist)





	1. I.Slavery

“You have to be willing to trust me” he whispers. “We have to be open to doing just about anything to get us out of here and back to Asgard.”

Outside your window, the view of Sakaar reminds you just how far from home you really are. You arrived last night, and thanks to Loki’s swift thinking had convinced the welcoming committee that you were royals whose transport had unexpectedly landed you there. Well, that at least Loki was royalty.

“And this was the best you could come up with?” You scowl at him as you eye your reflection against the glass. The collar around your neck digs into your skin. You slide a finger underneath the leather in an attempt to loosen it. “I don’t see why your plan had to involve me in such... degrading attire”

Loki strolls up to you and helps you to adjust the collar. He lifts up the companion chain and links it to you with a snap. He wraps the metal cord around his fist, a dark expression flashing over his emerald eyes.

“From what I’ve gathered from the locals, our gracious host is quite fond of ... slaves,” Loki replies, turning from you and momentarily dropping the chain with a _clank_. “We could gain his favor if he believes we are likeminded. So just stick to the plan. No matter what happens.”

“And what if he doesn’t believe this?” You offer.

“He has to.”

“King Loki,” a voice calls, following a knock at the door. “The Grandmaster will see you now.”

Loki adjusts his helmet and before opening the door to your room, turns and smiles at you.

“I am going to get us out of here,” he whispers. “Just have faith in your King.”

“Always,” you reply with a smirk, resulting in a slight shift in Loki’s steady demeanor. He grabs hold of your chain and pulls you forward through the doorway.

 

———

“Ah my new guest!” The grandmaster exclaims as you enter. The room could only be equated to a metallic throne room for a false king. It is filled with strange looking people, though you were sure you looked even stranger to them. You feel certain that they must not have seen many humans in their midsts.

“Loki, sit, sit!” The Grandmaster pats the seat beside him.

“Grandmaster,” Loki greets. A charming grin is plastered to his face, all for show. You take a cue from the real slaves at your side and stop at the doorway, the chain nonchalantly falling from Loki’s grasp. You keep your face downcast.

You decide in that moment that it wouldn’t be Loki’s silver tongue that would get you both out of there. It would be how well you could pull off this charade. You bite your tongue and make a mental note to give him hell for having come up with this scheme to begin with. _Why couldn’t we have been visiting merchants? “Because no one would believe I was a lowly merchant” Goddamn Gods._

Loki marches forward without hesitation at your absence and joins their host.  
One of the Grandmaster’s slaves comes forward to present him with a tall glass of wine. You suddenly feel parched.

“How do you like your room? I made sure you had a beautiful view of our city.” The Grandmaster leans forward in interest toward his guest.

“You are quite gracious,” Loki replies, sipping the wine. “I can’t see why anyone would ever want to leave.” You dig your nails into your palm to stop from screaming. _That’s the whole point, you arrogant ass!_

The Grandmaster laughs at this, “Well, you can’t.”

Loki nervously laughs in response. “About that...”

“Now, who is this lovely creature you’ve brought with you?” The Grandmaster interrupts. You unintentionally lift your head.

“Excuse me?” Loki mutters.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice her following you in?” the Grandmaster replies with a smirk, his eyes glued to you at the end of the room.

“Come forward, sweet thing,” he calls, beckoning you forward with his fingers.

You remain frozen at the end of the hall. You shift your gaze slightly to Loki, hoping he can read your mind in that instant. He leans forward onto his fist, resting against the arm of his makeshift throne. He raises an eyebrow in intrigue.

“Oh, she only follows the sound of my voice,” he replies, almost with pride, and you sigh in relief.

“Come here, pet.”

_Pet_. A shiver runs down your spine, unwanted, as you move forward. The guests in the room all shift their gaze upon you. Suddenly you feel self-conscious of the low neck line of your dress as the satin skirt sways above your knee.

_Ok, this is your opportunity. Time to step it up a notch_.

As you approach Loki, you fall to your knees at his feet, palms on your thighs, looking up at him. You swear you can see a slight tinge of pink flush over his face for a second before he beams at you. His hand comes down to stroke your hair. You lean into his touch on impulse.

The Grandmaster slowly claps. “Very nice, truly exceptional!” He exclaims. “So obedient, how do you do it?”

Loki plays idly with the chain attached to your neck, giving it a gentle tug. A whimper escapes your lips.

“It took quite a bit of work and patience to get full submission,” Loki replies. “Lots of sleepless nights.”

“Oh you don’t say...” The Grandmaster says with a smile. “I have to say Loki, I didn’t take you for the sort when you arrived here the way you did.”

You dig your nails into Loki’s ankle under his pant leg. 

“But of course, where I’m from it’s common practice. Besides,” his fingers came down to trace your jaw line delicately. “Don’t want to let a delicious body go to waste”

_Son of a bitch! I’ll kill him..._

“Yes, yes of course,” the Grandmaster nods happily in argument. “Is she yours exclusively? Or do you reward worthy friends?”

“No, I’m a very possessive owner,” Loki replies with a polite smile. You let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh but you must attend the orgy,” the Grandmaster adds, almost nonchalant.

Loki almost spits out the wine in his mouth.

“That’s not a request,” the Grandmaster clarifies. “It’s required. Missed attendance is punishable by death.” The way he speaks is as if he is talking about missed attendance at a college seminar.

Loki gulps down the rest of his wine in one swig. “But of course,” he says. “Wouldn’t dream of missing it.”

You feel bile creeping it’s way up your throat. You swallow hard. Loki was an even bigger ass than you imagined if he thought for a second that you’d be going to something like that, especially in the guise of his personal slave.

“I’ll have robes sent to your chambers. Oh, I can’t wait!” The Grandmaster clasped his hands together. He snaps his fingers and servants come forward in front of you. Without a word, you are told it was time to leave. Loki stands, bows slightly to your host and follows the servant from the room. He yanks your chain, ordering you to follow behind. 

You feel your knees beginning to tremble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this awhile back after first seeing Ragnorak and finally managed to edit it a bit into a series. More to come.


	2. I. Tipsy

“Are you really that stupid?” you scream at him once you are clear of the Grandmaster’s servants and back inside your chambers. “I am not going anywhere near that... event! You can go alone and have as much fun as you wish. I don’t care.”

“We both have to attend,” Loki states out the window, the night sky slowly creeping in over the horizon. “You saw the way he looked at you. You heard what he said. I don’t exactly want your death on my hands.”

Sitting at the edge of the bed, you nervously pick at your fingernails. “There has to be another way,” your voice quivers as you speak. “I can’t do this. I can’t.”

A look of empathy washes over Loki’s face. “I won’t let anyone touch you,” he assures firmly. “If they do I’ll kill them.”

“That’s comforting...”

“Listen, I can illusion us... participating. Then we will sneak out before they notice anything odd.”

You look up at him. “Do you really think that could work?”

He doesn’t reply but simply hands you one of the robes. He turns away as you undress, to give you as much privacy as could be afforded in a place without modesty. You quickly shift out of your dress and slide your panties off quickly. You tie the robe tightly around you and fold your arms over your chest. You swear your nipples could cut through the thin fabric.

You touch your fingertips to your collar. “I suppose I should keep this on though.”

“I suppose you should,” Loki replies as you turn around. You can tell by his twisted expression that he is purposefully avoiding looking below your neck. He is already in his robe as well. It’s slightly open at his chest and you can see his toned muscles peeking though. You quickly look away as you feel the blood rush to your cheeks.

“Shall we?”

He opens the door for you, his hand extended toward you. You slide your hand into his and squeeze, all your nervous energy transferring into that single touch. He gives you a slight squeeze back for reassurance as the two of you walk to the location of the night’s festivities.

You feel somewhat comforted by the fact that Loki isn’t dragging you by your chain this time.

It is an expansive room, with multiple enclaves and platforms scattered in every direction. There is a bar that takes over the entirely of the back wall. With multicolored liquor bottles lined from floor to ceiling. On the right is a stage. You only hope a band would appear rather than anything heinous. Though that is wishful thinking.

You step inside and your feet slightly sprung back. The floor beneath is made from plush velvet pillow, as are the walls.

“Lovely,” Loki mutters. “Drink?”

“Please,” you mouth.

You cling to him as you weave through the thickening crowd, all in various stages of dress. You pass a pair of women already appearing to get the night started. Panties in a state of disarray beside them. You blush and turn away.

“Two shots of your finest,” Loki tells the bartender.

The bartender sets up two shot glasses on the counter and pours a thick blue liquid into each that seems to glow against the dim light of the room.

“To not dying,” Loki says, holding up his glass. You clink yours against his.

“To not dying.”

In unison, you knock back the foreign drink. The liquid slides down your throat, leaving a pleasant burn in its trail. You let out a sigh, as the sensation continues to spread. Starting around your neck, pushing past to your chest and slowly pooling between your legs.

“What exactly was that?” Loki barks at the bartender, in a harsh gasp.

“Our strongest aphrodisiac,” The bartender answers with a smile.

“Perfect,” Loki groans.

You shift uncomfortably in your robe, overcome with the urge to remove it. You tug at the sleeves and study Loki, who looks to be as unnerved as you feel.

You hadn’t given thought to how you felt about Loki, other than that you had despised him back on Earth. Purely based on his reputation. But now, on this strange planet, in an orgy of all places, you decided to let your mind wander. You realize you love how sexy he looks with his hair sleeked back. And how he always smirked at you when he teased you. As if there was always a mischievous plan playing at the edge of his lips. You wonder what those lips taste like...

You bite your lip.

“Calm yourself,” he whispers harshly into your ear. “We both have to have a clear head if we want to get out of here.”

You try to shake off the lust that was building up thanks to the strange liquor. “I’m fine,” you argue.

“Don’t wander off,” he orders, firmly grabbing your hand once again. “We have to find the Grandmaster and put the illusion into place where he can witness it.”

You maneuver around the room, ducking past acts of coupling already in progress; all in various stages of seduction. You can feel the heat boiling inside you again as you try to look away. You rub your thumb mindlessly over Loki’s hand as he leads you forward.

Finally, you find the Grandmaster. He is lounging atop a mountain of lush pillows. A woman’s head bobbing up and down between his legs.

“Ah King Loki!” The Grandmaster exclaims as he catches your approach. “Please, join me!”

Loki pulls you forward but pushes you behind him, out of sight.

“Seems you are thoroughly enjoying yourself,” Loki remarks.

The Grandmaster shrugs, looking bored. He shifts to the side to take a look at you behind Loki.

“Why haven’t you started yet?” he asks with a frown.

“We had some fun before coming here. I was a bit impatient,” Loki replies. “I’m giving her a few minutes of rest.”

“Nonsense,” the Grandmaster snaps. “You are her master. She doesn’t deserve rest. You deserve the pleasure she is here for.” He pats the cushion next to him. “Sit next to me and let her blow you.”

You squeeze Loki’s hand in protest, hating that the suggestion turns you on.

Loki moves forward, pulling you to sit with him, and you follow, collapsing into the soft pillows. You nervously run your hands over the fabric.

“Stay absolutely still,” he orders in a barely audible whisper.

You gape at him but he avoids your eye and adds louder: “Be a good pet, and suck my cock.”

As he does, a copy of yourself pulls from your form and crawls between Loki’s legs obediently. You realize immediately that he has cast an illusion over you as well so that the Grandmaster cannot see you beside Loki. You hold your hands over your mouth to avoid making too much noise.

The illusion-clone looks remarkably real, even you begin to question which one is real: the one slowly opening Loki’s robes or the one watching, fingers falling to rest against your bottom lip.

You watch the illusion pull Loki’s cock out into the open. Your eyes widen as you take in the length of it. He is much bigger than you thought. _Don’t watch you idiot._ You try to look away but you are drawn to the sight in front of you as your clone slowly puts him into her mouth. She starts with just the tip, teasing him with her tongue. Loki groans and grips the pillow. _Can he really feel that?_

You can feel yourself throbbing as you watch them. Envious of your clone. Without realizing it, your hands drift from your gaping mouth: one finds its home over your right breast through the silk fabric, while the other pushes past your robe to feel the wetness forming at your base.

Loki’s gaze shifts onto you, his eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of you starting to pleasure yourself. He reacts almost violently by grabbing a fistful of your clone’s hair and thrusting into her throat. She gags slightly but relaxes and continues. You can tell he is close by his urgency. Your fingers find their way inside and you can feel yourself climbing toward an edge, ready for release.

You quicken your pace, pulsing your fingers in and out. Your eyes never leave his as you stare at each other intensely. You bring your other hand up to your lips to suck on your fingertips.

And that’s when you lose all restraint. A simple word falling out of your mouth. His name in a beautiful moan as you cum.

The illusion collapses instantly, Loki’s hard cock bobbing in the empty space where the clone’s mouth had been. Loki looks at you as if he could devour you whole.

The Grandmaster jolts up, the woman in his lap fumbling to the side. “What is the meaning of this?” He shouts. “No, no we won’t have any of this. Guards!”

Immediately, a group of armed soldiers surround you, the heat of their weapons burning your skin by their proximity. This was it.

“Participate or die.”

_(To be continued)_


	3. I. Taken

“Wait!” You shout, impulsively, pushing yourself between the Grandmaster and Loki. “Did you not enjoy the entertainment, my lord?”

The Grandmaster eyes his guards, ready to give the order.

You continue, “My master is a skilled illusionist and merely wanted to showcase his talents for you.”

You pause. The Grandmaster seems more willing to listen but he needs some convincing.

You push part of your robe off your shoulder and playfully pull the bottom up to just below your hips, barely covering your decency. You lean back into Loki. His cock is still hard and pushes into your ass.

“I am still the main event, my lord.”

The Grandmaster shifts his gaze from you to Loki. The moment seems unbearably long before he waves his hand, dismissing the guards.

“I underestimated you,” he says to Loki over your shoulder. He slides back down into the pillows. “The illusion was indeed a sight to see. But your slave clearly needs a good fuck before I can allow you to leave.”

“Perhaps we could come to some agreement,” Loki offers. You push into him and he growls involuntarily.

“Participate or die,” The Grandmaster repeats as the woman returns to her post between his legs and continues where she left off.

“I’ll kill him,” Loki whispers behind you.

“You don’t need anymore death on your hands.” You turn to Loki, and gently push him back down into the pillowy floor.

“Don’t make this harder than it already is,” Loki groans.

“But watching you with...well, _me_ , made me start to wonder what kind of lover the God of Mischief is,” you say bravely.

“Not the kind you can handle, I’m sure,” Loki says with a smirk.

You trace your hands past the opening of his robes, palms spread out wide against his chest.

“Why don’t we see for ourselves, shall we?”

You straddle him, and let your robe fall open fully. You push your bare breasts against him.

Loki breathes your name. “You don’t have to do this.”

There was no time for hesitation. This was a chance for continued survival. But mostly this was about your need for him, specifically in this very moment. Your lips linger just barely above his as you say, “I want you. I really want you. Don’t make me wait any longer, Master.” You emphasize his new title with a groan.

Loki’s hands come down to rest on your hips, barely covered by the silk fabric. “That’s the alcohol talking,” he mutters, almost sounding disappointed. His thumbs push into your hip bone.

You playfully kiss his neck, trailing up to his ear, which you lightly nibble. “I’m sorry, did I stutter?”

He chuckles in defeat then, and grabs you by the waist to flip you over so that you are below him. “Just remember,” he starts as he yanks the cord of your robe completely free, “that you asked for this.”

His eyes darken and you see the other side of him take over. You’d always known there were two Loki’s: the one that would protect you from a stray arrow in battle and the one who would gladly destroy you if he wanted to.

You arch your hips in reaction as his hand finds your slick folds, his finger quickly pushing inside. You gasp and grip his shoulder. Your own fingers were nothing compared to his long slender digits. You thrust instinctively against his hand.

“So wet already,” he cooes. “If I’d known you were such a little minx, I would have taken you sooner.”

You moan in reply, desperate for another release before he pulls his finger out. “Not so fast,” he says as he begins to shift down your body, his breath washing over your opening. “I want to taste you.”

You gasp as his tongue flickers over you, delicately twirling over your clit. You are so close the world around you blurs as you narrow in on the feeling of Loki’s mouth suckling your mound.

“Oh, you taste just as sweet as I imagined you would,” he murmurs. You can see your wetness glistening off his lips as he plunges his fingers back inside.

“Say it again,” he commands into your pussy. His breath makes you shiver. Your fingers bury into his hair, urging him to continue but he abruptly pulls up from between your legs. He holds your chin between his fingertips.

“Say my name again, pet,” he orders firmly.

“Loki,” you moan and grind against his hand. His fingers are suddenly gone and feeling empty you reach from him, pulling him closer.

You gasp and he is fully inside you with a single sudden thrust. Not his fingers, but the full length of his cock buried in deep. You dig your nails into his back as you take in the feeling. How tightly your pussy is gripping around him. You dare not stop him now. You are too far gone.

You are panting relentlessly as he slowly begins to move. And you hear it, the sounds of your bodies colliding in a wet, erotic mess. You bite his shoulder. Ignoring the pain and focusing on the pleasure he is giving you.

He yanks at the chain around your neck, chocking you slightly as he fucks you. His other hand grips your ass to pull you both into a sitting position. You ride him obediently as he pulls the collar tightly.

“Beg for it,” he groans and you bob up and down over his length. He helps you with the rhythm as he moves your ass up and down in unison.

“Fuck me,” you moan against his lips. You need more, more pressure, more friction. You are hurdling over the edge of a climax that you need so badly you want to scream from the agony.

“Harder!”

He complies as his lips finally come crashing into yours, the chain falling loose in his grasp. You can faintly make out your own taste on his tongue as it slides past your lips. You pull back to catch your breath.

“Loki, I’m going to...”

“Me too,” he moans as he grips onto your bare back. It’s as if you are the only thing holding him to the earth. And you cum together, feeling him empty himself inside of you with a single pulsing thrust.

You fall weightless into the pillows, trying to catch your breath.

You look down to where you are still connected. His seed begins to seep out as he slowly pulls out of you. Leaving you feeling empty. A small hint of red lines your inner thigh. He stares down at you, breathing heavily. He begins to open his mouth to say something, his eyes widening, before the Grandmaster interrupts.

“Bravo,” he says with a loud clap. “Bravo!”

You then notice the small crowd that had gathered around you. All of which join in the choir of applause. You reach desperately for your robe to cover yourself, all sense of modesty rushing back over you. How could you have done this in front of so many people? The heat rising over your face feels as it if may explode out of your eye sockets.

“Never once in my many years of hosting these events have I seen such raw, untapped passion,” the Grandmaster exclaims. He wipes a fake tear from his eye dramatically. “I am truly moved.”

Loki casually dresses and pulls you up to stand. “I’d say we’ve sufficiently warranted our admission,” he says.

You can hear in his voice that he is still coming down from his orgasmic high, just as you are. Your knees wobble as you attempt to stand steady. You can’t help but lean into Loki for support.

“Of course you have!” The Grandmaster agrees. “By all means you are free to go. But you are welcome to stay...” The crowd begins to gather closer, the look in their eyes frightening.

“Perhaps another time.” You stumble and Loki quickly scoops you into his arms. He scurries out of the room before anyone else could come up with a reason for them not to leave. You bury your face into the crock of his shoulder. You can feel the effects of the liquor gradually wearing off, returning in its place a horrible feeling of dread and embarrassment. What had you just done?

Loki doesn’t say a word the entire walk back to your room. You feel numb, horrified. Was the alcohol wearing off him too? Would he have never done that if not for that?


	4. I. Owned

Loki bursts into your room and slams the door shut. Within seconds, he has you on the bed and is hovered over you. He is still breathing heavy.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” he asks between gritted teeth. “You should have pushed me away. You should have told me no.”

“Loki, I initiated that... do I not?” You cross your legs. You can still feel the residual wetness between them, from both of your orgasms. You blush at the recall.

“Don’t take all the blame for this,” He glares. “I hurt you. We shouldn’t have...”

You open your mouth to reply but you aren’t sure what to say. You truly had wanted him, all of him. Was he that repulsed by what you did?

Loki positions himself between your legs, pulling them up and open so you can see the stain left on your thigh.

“I took your virginity,” he says, less as a statement and more as a question to himself as he stares at you, a mix of confusion and residual lust flashing over his emerald eyes. “In that disgusting room, in front of all those people.”

You wrap your arms around your knees and push him away from you with the heel of your foot.

“Well I’m sorry you had to go through that,” you mutter.

“That’s not what I’m saying...”

“Look, I know you probably would have rather fucked any other woman,” you begin. “Hell, you could have had any man or woman in that place. And you should have.” You turn away from him, looking desperately for something more substantial to wear to cover yourself. You’d rather he not see you like this any longer if you could help it.

“But I don’t regret it,” you add, looking him square in the eye. “So what If you took my virginity? It’s not like I was meant to stay a sacred virgin my whole life anyway and besides, I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have taken it...” You blush. Why were you suddenly being so honest? “But I get it. You didn’t like it. We won’t do it again.”

Before you know it he is on top of you, his fingers held under your chin, pulling your gaze back up to meet his.

“You honestly think I didn’t enjoy that?”

Your eyes dance over his expression. The darkness slowly creeping back into view. “You seemed pretty furious...”

“You stupid girl,” he mutters. He kisses you gently. Unlike your first kiss that was full of desperate longing, this was tender, purposeful.

“I’ve dreamt of all the ways I wanted to ravish you,” he growls. “And If you think for even a second that I’d regret that, I will gladly fuck the sense back into you.”

His hand is on your thigh, on the bare skin there. He pushes you down onto the bed.

“When you first came into my life, I thought of you as nothing but a weak mortal,” he says. “But you are so much more than that, aren’t you? So willing to go to any length to keep yourself alive.” His hand is on your sex and you moan.

“Isn’t that right?”

You nod.

“You’d do anything? Like letting me fuck you in the middle of an orgy. ”

His fingers run up and down your folds, stopping at your clit to put light pressure there.

“If they had asked me to take you in the middle of that throne room,” he begins, the tip of his finger slowly dipping inside. “would you have let me?”

You nod again and he pushes it fully inside. You let go of a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“If they made me tie you up and fuck you anyway a wished, would you let me?”

You moan a response.

“Naughty girl,” he growls into your ear. “Glad I found you before anyone else did. Oh the fun we will have, little one. I fear you’ve created a monster.”

He stands back to take a look at you. You reach out for him wanting his touch to continue further. He smirks.

“Let’s get you washed up,” he says as he pulls you back up into his arms and walks you toward the bath.

He starts to run the water, placing you gently down to sit at the edge. He slowly removes your robe once again, placing it gently on the tile. His fingers trace the swell of your breasts.

“This isn’t another one of your games is it?” You mutter, eyes glued to the water trickling down into the porcelain. “You aren’t playing me for a fool, are you?”

That mischievous smirk curls further up over his lips. One hand is on your nipple, pinching slightly until you whine while the other is at your chain, still secured to your neck by the collar.

“You are mine now,” he purrs against your lips. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Should I?”

The collar unlinks with a snap, clanking as it collided with the floor. His hand runs over your neck, where a bright red mark stains your flesh. He kisses you softly there.

Once the tub is full, you step eagerly into the water. It feels like a warm kiss on your aching muscles, your hips sighing in relief.

“Does it feel good, pet?”

Loki is completely undressed as you look up at him. He enters the bath to sit across from you. He leans forward and massages up your body from the soles of your feet to your tender thighs.

“Yes, master,” you say with a sly grin.

He growls and launches toward you, capturing your lips with his. You bite and tug playfully on his bottom lip.

“Now, now... it’s not nice to bite your master like that, little one,” he groans.

But you do it again, smiling against his lips. “Or what?” You counter.

“Or I will need to punish you.” His hand is in the water, back over your sore center. He pushes two fingers inside roughly. You grip the edge of the tub. He begins pumping in and out of you with such veracity, with such pure animalistic hunger, that your eyes well up with tears. You cry out for him to stop, but not truly meaning it. You need this. You need him so badly it hurts more than the feeling of being torn apart by his fingers or cock.

“Don’t you want to cum, pet? Tell me what you want.”

He is relentless. Your hands are shaking. Your pussy is in a state of plummeted disarray as his thumb pushes into your clit.

“Just let me cum, Loki,” you gasp. “Just let me cum.”

“What did you call me?”

“Loki,” you moan as he pulls his fingers out so quickly it stings.

He flips you over and pulls you out of the tub so that you are leaning over the edge. Your bare ass out of the water, your knees trembling. He traces his fingertips in circles over your cheeks. The sensation makes you quiver.

“You should always address me as Master unless I tell you otherwise,” he says sternly. His hand comes down with a harsh slap. You buckle upward and gasp at the sudden impact. It hurts, your flesh stings where his hand made contact. You hate that you love it. You hate that you want him to spank you harder. You hate that you want him to fuck you again as he does.

“What. Is. My. Name?” He says, emphasizing each word with small slaps on your ass.

“Loki,” you say defiantly, turning to look at him.

His hand is in your hair as he thrusts his cock into your pussy, rare and swollen. He is deep, up to the hilt. His hand leaves your hair and comes round to hold your neck. You hate that you love the feeling of his strong hands gripping you, controlling even your breathing.

“You just wanted to be fucked, didn't you? Defiant little whore,” he growls as he begins to thrust harder.

“Oh so I’m a whore now?” You manage between inherent moans. “Says the man who just took my virginity only an hour ago.” You want to stay strong. You don’t want to look weak in front of him or make him think you aren’t up for his games. But your willpower is fading fast. Your in pain but the pleasure is just as exhilarating.

He leans into you over your back and whispers, “Let me be clear. You are my whore. Mine. To do with as I please. Whenever I please.”

He thrusts into you faster, then slows to an almost infuriating slow pace. But he is hitting you in just the right spot, the hidden pleasure center that drives you mad. He circles around your clit and the waves of your orgasm crash into you as you feel the pulsating round thunder through you, up your legs, over your chest and out your mouth as you let out a final satiating moan.

Loki is still hard but pulls out of you, not seeming to need the gratification just yet. He chuckles at your state of disarray.

You hate the way he makes you come undone so easily.

You hate him.

He grabs a bar of soap to finish what he set out to do. He rubs it gently over your chest, still heaving up and down in the afterglow. You feel dizzy from the whiplash of his dual personas.

“You chose this path,” he whispers. “And now there is no returning from it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only ever meant for this to be 2-3 chapters but I am having way to much fun with this convoluted storyline to stop now. Hope you all are enjoying whatever twisted ideas my mind can dish out. 
> 
> Side note: Just rewatched both of the stand alone Thor films and feel newly inspired.


	5. I. Jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW: Rape**

You are invited to the arena the next day, to see what the Grandmaster calls his finest achievement. You are relieved to find it isn’t another orgy but a gladiator fight, in which neither you nor Loki are forced to participate, but rather to observe.

A dress is sent to your room for the event and you are elated to find that it isn’t another sheer robe but an elegant gown of green silk and golden embellishing. You suspect Loki suggested the colors. You almost roll your eyes. The silk fabric feels cool over your flesh as you slide it on. You opt for panties tonight though you know punishment may follow.

You pull your hair up off your neck and start to pin it when you feel Loki’s presence behind you. You hadn’t heard him enter the room, having spent the day outside your chambers “socializing for escape” as he called it.

“No, wear it down,” he orders. His hand traces up your bare shoulders and neck delicately. “You look ravishing in my colors.”

You turn around and smile at him. The past few days felt like a fever dream. Being on Sakaar and posing as Loki’s sex slave had turned into a strange twist of fate in which you truly began to submit to him. Willingly. Outside of any pretense of survival tactics. This was no longer a charade for you both but your new reality.

He holds up a collar for you to wear but your eyes widen as you look at it.

“I felt leather and chains may not be so appropriate for this affair,” he remarks. “You needed something a bit more subtle.”

He ties the velvet ribbon around your neck so it is flesh to your skin. You reach up to feel the golden charm sitting at the base of your throat. It is his sigil and your symbol of ownership.

“Thank you,” you say and add, lest you get scolded for forgetting: “Master”

Loki hums as he plays with the charm. “I do love this dress,” he says. “It’s a shame I am going to tare it off of you later.”

You don’t have time for a snarky response. You can’t afford to be late. So you bite your tongue and link your arm with his to leave your chambers.

The halls are bustling with servants of every discipline, hurrying along to prepare for the evening. Some were carrying vats of weaponry. Others had souvenirs that were reminiscent of your trips to theme parks as a child. Clearly this so called “Contest of Champions” was a large affair. No one seems to be allowed to miss it.

Loki leads you to a large feast room. Long tables are set to either side of the room, piled high with food you cannot recognize but that immediately stirs your hunger. The faces in the room take you back to the night of the orgy. The same people who eyed you with lust now nibble on fruit and laugh cordially to one another. Seeming completely unaffected by their sinful escapades.

“Are you hungry, my sweet?” Loki asks. And as if an cue, your stomach growls unceremoniously. He chuckles. “That’d be a yes.”

You take a sit at one of the banquet tables, Loki pulling your chair out for you. “Aren’t you a gentleman,” you remark.

“Only when I want to be,” he replies. “And only if you deserve it.”

“Haven’t I been good?” You whisper.

“I’ll reward you later if you continue to behave yourself,” he says as he plops a piece of fruit into his mouth. “Come here.”

You lean forward on command and he presents you with something that looks like a cherry. You pluck it off it’s steam with your teeth. Biting into it, your mouth is overwhelmed by an odd buzzing sensation that coats every single taste bud.

“This fruit has special properties, very rare and very expensive,” he explains. “Everything you place on your lips will taste exactly like the thing you crave at this given moment.” He picks up a piece of alien produce. “Give it a try.”

As you bite into the food you immediately recognize the taste. You feel the blood rush over your cheeks and you try desperately to think of something to say as an excuse.

It tastes like his tongue, dancing around your mouth, the faint remnants of your sex and the foreign liquor laced within his saliva.

“What does it taste like?”

You swallow but the buzzing sensation remains.

“Like chocolate covered strawberries,” you lie.

Loki takes a bite of the same strange food. He laughs as he chews, swallowing it back with a sigh.

“Well I’ll tell you what I taste,” he says as he leans over in his chair so only you can hear him. His lips brushing over your ear.

“Your sweet virgin cunt.”

You grip his leg. “Don’t say that. Not here.” You cross your legs as you feel the persistent throbbing return. You bite your lip.

“Last I checked you weren’t the one who could tell me what I could or couldn’t do.”

You move your hand away and swallow hard, immediately tensing up.

“Relax, pet,” he says as his hand comes down to push a stray hair behind your ear. His fingers continue until they are under your chin, pulling your face towards him. “I’m in no mood for punishment. Just enjoy yourself tonight.”

He is trying to be so reassuring but you aren’t convinced. You know you haven’t seen the full extent of his rage and fear what it could mean for you if you ever did. But perhaps tonight you could pretend you had a normal relationship. Just a man and a woman.

“May we join you?” A voice interrupts your tangled mind.

“Please,” Loki says as he gestures for the new couple to sit beside you.

You see Loki’s eyes wander over the woman as she sits. She is tall, slender, with large eyes that are ornamented with dark swirls of makeup. Her skin is golden, her hair a bright, almost iridescent blonde.

The man with her looks identical, a matching set, but where she is ornately feminine, he is overtly masculine. His shirt is open at the chest so you can see his muscles bulging from within. He is eyeing you in a way that makes you shift your gaze to your hands, nervously picking at the beading on your dress.

“Haven’t seen you folks around here before,” the man remarks.

“New to town,” Loki says with a smile. He takes the woman’s hand and kisses her knuckles in greeting. “Loki of Asgard,” he hums over her flesh.

Your heart is beating so fast. You feel your stomach churn. Did the food make you ill, perhaps?

“Pleasure,” the woman replies. “Though, I did hear talk of some new faces who made quite the impression at last night’s coupling.” She can’t take her eyes off of Loki.

You might vomit.

“We weren’t able to attend,” the man clarifies. “Stella gets impatient. Very needy woman.”

“Cyrus is a demanding lover,” the woman replies as if speaking directly to you alone. Her eyes dart down to your collar. Her mouth falls open into the shape of an “O”.

“I didn’t realize she was a slave,” she says with a hint of disgust. “Is this the woman we’ve heard about in those rumors?”

 _What rumors_? Had their stunt at the orgy been that newsworthy. It was just sex...

“Oh, Yes,” Loki says proudly. “I’m quite fond of her.” You blush. All talk, no substance, you remind yourself.

“But she’s a slave,” the woman spats. “There is only so much you can do with one before you break it.”

“Mm, I’d love to try,” the man remarks as he licks his lips.

An announcement overhead interrupts the conversation. You hear the Grandmaster’s voice beckoning his people to the arena for the main event. You are thankful for the distraction but Loki is persistent in keeping up their conversation with his new “friends.”

“Won’t you come with us?” He offers out his hand to the woman, Stella, as he stands. “I’d love to hear more about your time here on Sakaar. In exchange...” his voice trails off as he leans into her to whisper in her ear. Her laugh cascades over you like poison.

“Loki of Asgard,” she murmurs. “What a delight you are.”

The two of them begin to stroll off ahead of you. You stumble to your feet and the man, Cyrus offers you his arm. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you,” he says with a glint in his eyes.

You hesitate but take his arm. If Loki was going to have his fun, the least you could do was charm some information out of this night. And if you had to give this man a bloody nose and a punch to the groin, so be it.

You arrive at the Grandmaster’s observation booth. Apparently, you had made quite the impression last night and had won favor with both the high ranking people of Sakaar and their leadership. But your fame was tittering. You wouldn’t be able to stand on the footing of one night’s showcase forever. You would need to keep in good standing if you wished to return home.

But you weren’t sure where home was for you anymore.

A servant offers the man a drink as you enter. “Would you like one?” Cyrus asks, as you would need his permission to indulge, given your apparent status. You shake your head. You knew what their alien liquor was capable of. You didn’t want to see what it could make you do, especially with Loki so preoccupied.

He and Stella take a seat by the large window overlooking the arena, sprawled out on plush lounge chairs. You walk over, away from Cyrus, to peer outside. The stadium was massive, unlike anything you’d seen before on Earth. This tripled, quadrupled even, all of the football stadiums you’d ever seen. The crowd was roaring, a display of fanfare in lights, smoke and signs for their favored victors.

The sand below was stained in blood.

“Are you excited?” Cyrus asks as he comes to stand behind you. You can feel the heat of his body clouding over you like a suffocating fog. The strength of his chest presses into your back and his hands come down to rest on your bare shoulders. They feel more restraining then your leather collar.

He wasn’t an unattractive man, in fact he probably fueled a lot of women’s wet dreams but he wasn’t...

“Oh my new favorites are here!” The Grandmaster exclaims as he enters the room. The crowd parts ways for him as he strolls up to you.

“Oh my sweet, don’t you look lovely!” He says as he plants air kisses to either side of your face.

“You are most kind,” you say with a smile. “Thank you for the dress. It’s beautiful.”

“You make it beautiful,” he says with a wink. “Cyrus! You are looking fit, my friend. It’s a shame we can’t have you down there. I’d love to see that.” His hand pulses over his muscles, giving them a squeeze. He turns and slides in next to Loki. You see now that Stella is practically wrapped up into him, her legs draped over his. Loki is stroking her hair.

You feel your stomach churn again.

“I need water,” you mutter.

“Please, allow me,” Cyrus says kindly and disappears into the crowd. You turn back to the window, looking for a means of distraction, but you are close enough to hear all of the conversation behind you.

“Stella and her brother are entertainers here. Aerial arts,” The Grandmaster explains. “We must have you and your slave attend our next ball so you can see them perform.”

“Aerial arts?” Loki says, you can almost hear the smirk in his voice. “Well that must take a lot of skill.”

“A lot of flexibility,” Stella adds.

Where was Cyrus with the damned water?

“So he is your brother? And your lover?”

“Where we come from there’s no shame in such a relationship.”

There is a pause and you are almost tempted to turn around.

“Only pleasure.”

You spin your body around to say something, the heat boiling over inside of you like a tea kettle screaming with steam. But you collide into Cyrus as you do, drink in hand. It splashes over your chest, sliding down between your breasts.

“I’m so sorry,” Cyrus says but his eyes are glued to your damp chest.

You don’t even hesitate before you grab the water from him and chug down what hasn’t spilled. Something stings your lips as you swallow. That strange fruit must still be taking affect as you feel the familiar taste of Loki’s mouth creeping in over your taste buds, ever so faintly.

“Come with me, I’m sure my sister has a spare dress you can borrow.” Cyrus takes your hand and practically drags you out of the room. Loki’s gaze follows you but you look away. You hadn’t realized your nails were digging into the palms of your hands.

Why do you feel so angry?

You look down at your dress with a frown. I guess Loki wouldn’t be tearing it off of you... but had you wanted that? Maybe Stella would be the one to endure Loki’s kinks tonight.

“So where exactly is your sister’s room?”

Cyrus pins you to the wall. His firm hand pushes into your shoulder. His other hand grips the wet fabric, open at your cleavage.

“Let go of me.” You try to provide strength to your voice but it continues to fail you.

“I’m sure your master won’t mind if I just have a taste.”

His lips assault yours so harshly you can almost feel them bruise. You try to clench them closed shut but he pushes his tongue inside. You squirm in his grasp, unable to escape under the weight of his massive body.

His hand comes around your neck and he snatches Loki’s pendant from you with a snap. The velvet strand dances to the floor.  
His lips are on your newly exposed neck.

“I said let go of me!” You shove your knee toward his groin but lose your momentum halfway through. He grabs hold of your leg, hiking it up around his waist.

“I thought pleasure slaves didn’t bother to wear undergarments,” he groans as his hand shoves up between your legs until his fingers brush over the fabric of your panties.

You feel dizzy as the room begins to tilt. His face becomes a mixed blur of colors and shapes.

“What did you put in my drink?” You say with a slur. You are gradually loosing control of your motor functions. You want to scream but you’ve lost your voice somewhere in the misshaped chaos that is now the world around you.

“Just a little something to make you more compliant,” he whispers into your neck as you feel his cock spring free and push up toward you.

“No, please,” you struggle to protest.

You collapse to the floor as Cyrus’s grip on your body vanishes. He groans and shouts down the hallway, “You pathetic little warm!”

You smell something metallic, a warm liquid splattered on your thigh but you can not manage to move your hand to smear it off.

“If you so much as even look at her again, I won’t be so forgiving. Count your blessings.”

Loki. Why was Loki here? What was happening? Everything was slowly fading to black.

Someone picks you up off the floor. You can barely make out the sensation as your limbs go numb.

“No, no, no,” you repeat until you lose all form of communication.

He hushes you. “I’m here, pet.” It’s Loki. Thank God. _Thank God_.

The world goes completely black.


	6. I. Resentment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** TW: Trauma, Rape, Angry Sex **

Your eyelids flutter open as the morning rays cascade through the wall of glass panes. You feel hungover, like the day after your twenty-first birthday. Before you knew about the dangers of mixing. Same throbbing headache and blurred recall.

You are still in the emerald gown you wore to the Contest of Champions. Why hadn’t you bothered to undress before bed? You can not recall seeing the actual event.

The sunshine shimmers off something metallic on the nightstand beside you. Your pendant. You reach for it, holding the charm up to the light. Loki’s sigil dangles there like a forsaken crucifix.

“How are you feeling?”

You turn and see Loki sitting beside you, on a chair he has pulled up next to the bed. He is also still in his attire from last night and looks as if he hasn’t slept, his hair in a state of disarray. He almost looks childlike in his sleepy daze. 

“Hungover,” you admit. “I don’t remember drinking though.”

He gets up from the chair and leans over you. His hand brushes over your forehead in a cool stroke. You’ve never seen this expression on his face before. Why does he look so concerned?

“You don’t remember anything from last night?”

“I remember you with that blonde bimbo,” you mutter under your breath. “I hope you could keep up with her acrobatic tastes.”

“You left with Cyrus. Do you remember that?” Loki asks, ignoring your remark. His eyes narrow.

You pull back the curtain to your memory, combing through the details of what you can recall. Images flash forward, quick glimpses of each moment. Loki presenting you with your new collar. Then sitting with Stella. Cyrus’s drink spilling over your dress. The most predominant sensation through out it all is the horrid dread you feel in the pit of your stomach.

Cyrus’s hand between your legs.

You look at Loki, wide-eyed. “Did he... please tell me we didn’t...” You are shaking.

“No,” Loki reassures. He comes up to sit next to you in bed. “A dagger to the leg makes it pretty difficult to maintain arousal.”

You sigh in relief but still feel shaken. You look up at him and your hand finds his, a single finger intertwining.

“Thank you,” you say softly. “I was lucky you were there... but how were you there?”

“The minute you walked out of the observation deck I was trying to get out of there to follow you.”

“You didn’t trust me?”

“I didn’t trust him.”

His hand is around your neck, securing the collar back in its rightful place.

“Remember my promise?” He asks. You shake your head. “I’ll never let anyone touch you. Not at that orgy. Not last night. Not ever.”

Somehow it does not sound like a sweet gesture but rather the ramblings of a possessive lover.

“But you can have whoever you want,” you mumble. “Stella was clearly up for anything with you.”

“Such a jealous girl.” He chuckles.

“I am not!” You bark back, defensively.

“So you wouldn’t mind if I went to her now and fucked her?”

“Go!” You order.

He smirks and gets up from the bed.

“See you later, kitten. Much later,” he says as he reaches for the door.

“Wait!” You shout. Your heart is racing again. “I didn’t mean that you should just go to her...”

“No?”

You slide out of bed. “No.”

“Are you going to give me a good reason to stay?”

You swallow. What could you offer him other than yourself? Since he took you, barely a day past, all you could think about was wanting him again and again. But you didn’t want to seem so eager. So utterly and completely infatuated with the feeling of him inside of you.

“Well?”

“We need to plan our escape,” you say finally.

“What exactly do you think I’ve been doing?” He is annoyed by your suggestion.

“Flirting, socializing, bribing locals, but mostly flirting.”

“Ok, that’s it. I’ve had enough of your attitude.”

He looks dangerous in that moment. His glare burrows into you like the dagger he used on Cyrus.

“Dress off. On the bed. Legs spread. Wide.” He orders. His hands are in fists.

There isn’t time to think, just to comply. You stumble back onto the bed, clumsily removing the dress up over you head. You lie back but hesitate for a moment before you position your legs, heels pointed toward each corner just as he asked.

You hate to admit to yourself that this is actually turning you on.

It seems like a lifetime passes before he finally comes up to the bed between your legs. He is still completely clothed except for his tie, which he wraps over your eyes as a makeshift blindfold.

All of your senses begin to come alive at the loss of sight. Every touch he delivers becomes a hundred times more exhilarating. Every slap. Every pinch. Every graze of teeth on flesh. You begin to come undone beneath him, writhing toward release.

But before he can let you cum, he has your wrists in his tight grasp, held over your head as he thrusts into you. You can still feel the fabric of his pants rubbing against you. He is pulsing into you so fast, his cock hitting your very core. You cry out for him. Your fingers wiggle under his restraint.

“Don’t move,” He orders in a grunt. “You jealous little slut.”

One hand holds your wrists while the other is at your neck. Before you can speak, his grasp tightens, harder this time than the last. You gasp as you begin to chock. The gold pendant digs into your flesh under the grip of his hand. You try to say his name but you can’t breathe. He fucks you harder, each thrust more determined than the last.

“Maybe I did want to fuck her,” he moans. “I’m sure she is much more skilled than you are, my little virgin whore.”

Your nails find their way into his hands. _Stop. Please stop._

The hand around your throat makes you think of Cyrus. Of what almost happened. Of his cock pressed against you. Blinded, Loki’s hands and cock become that of Cyrus. Fulfilling his promise. Raping you.

_No, please. Stop._

“What would you do if I told you that I did fuck her last night?”

_Please stop saying that. I don’t want to hear it. Just stop!_

“That I fucked her til I came inside her...”

Tears stream down your cheeks. You lie limp beneath him, unable to move. His grip on your throat loosens and you gasp for air.

“I hate you,” you strain to say as your tears run over your lips. “I fucking hate you.”

He thrusts into you one last time and you hear him grunt as he cums inside you. He shifts out of you and you close your legs immediately, turning onto your side the minute he releases you from his grasp. You feel his hands reach around to untie your blindfold.

“Leave it,” you say harshly as you slap his hand away. “I can’t look at you right now.”

The room falls into silence as you crawl into a fetal position on the bed. Feeling completely numb. You had enjoyed when he’d been rough with you before, even when he degraded you. But he had pushed too far with you tonight.

When he made you picture him with someone else. When he made you feel as if he had raped you himself.

You feel the blankets of the bed pulling over you before the lights to the room click off and the door closes with a slam. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise it’ll all be ok. Trust me.
> 
> COMING UP NEXT: Loki’s POV of 5-6


	7. I. Loki’s POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This POV takes place between the events of chapters 5 and 6
> 
> Thanks sassy_hufflepuff for the great suggestion!

Loki walks out of the dining hall with the woman, Stella. He already knew a fair bit about her thanks to chattering gossips around Sakaar. She had quite the reputation for being easily wooed by any handsome man who came her way. Including her brother.

So he gave her empty promises of romance, none of which he planned to fulfill. But he knew she had a story to tell. One that may become essential to their escape.

As he leaves, he looks back to see you trailing behind him in Cyrus’s clutches.

_All brawn, no brain._

“So, Loki, tell me about your home planet... Argo, was it?” Stella says, her long talons linked into his arm.

“Asgard,” he corrects. “You’d love it there. It’s practically forged from gold.”

She beams up at him. “Oh, I’d love to see that!”

“It’s a shame we can’t go there,” Loki whispers into her ear.

“The Grandmaster needs to lighten up,” she replies with a huff. “Cyrus and I need new audiences. We are quite bored with this crowd and this planet. Did you know there’s no real vegetation here? So dull.”

He leads her into the observation deck and she happily falls into his lap. She is wearing a heavy perfume that begins to suffocate him. You stroll into view in front of him, framed against the light streaming in from the window. He thought for a moment of your alluring scent. How you almost smelled of your innocence. How he could breath you in and feel brand new himself.

He stiffens as he sees Cyrus coming up behind you. His intent is clear. Loki’s hand forms into a fist before he realizes it. Stella slides her hand over his snow colored knuckles.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, beautiful,” he says with a fake smile plastered to his lips.

He can’t concentrate. The conversation is a blur. Everything rehearsed. She seems unaffected by his detached demeanor. Which he is thankful for. Clearly winning her favor with token lines of allurement.

He feels the line reeling in, ready to unlock her secrets when Cyrus spills water over your dress. It takes all of his self control not to kill him then and there. His hands are still on you. Eyes wandering over you. He’s seen the look in Cyrus’s eyes in his own reflection.

You leave the room with Cyrus and Loki knows he needs to follow you.

Before he can realize what she’s doing, Stella’s hand is sliding down under his pants to feel the length of his cock. Though he is hardly attracted to her, her touch stiffens him. She smiles up at him.

“So the rumors are true.”

“My sweet, you are too eager,” he hums as he removes her hand swiftly. “Won’t you give me time to seduce you more effectively? You are making this too easy.”

She whines and pushes into him. “When I know what I want, I take it.”

_Like your brother._

“And you shall have me,” he promises. He leans in to kiss her cheek but she turns, taking his lips to her own. Her tongue searches eagerly around his mouth before he pulls away.

“I’ll remember you said that,” she moans.

He springs to his feet and leaves the room before she can plot another protest. The heat is rising through his clenched fist and into his chest. His heart is racing.

 _Where are you_? 

He rounds a corner and sees you, clearly in a state of intoxicated delusion. When he lays eyes on Cyrus, cock in his hand, his dagger is already aimed and ready to plunge into his manhood, to quickly sever it off.

However, he throws it into his thigh, in fear of hurting you in the process of castration.

Not paying any mind to the bleeding, furious Cyrus on the floor, he picks you up and makes way for your chambers.

How could he let this happen to you? You were gone for just a moment and Cyrus almost had his way with you. He had failed you. He hated himself for it.

He stays by your side all night in fear that your heart will stop beating. He didn’t know what drug was running through your vines but he feared its lasting effects. He couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t afford to lose anyone else. Not after mother...

And not when he was just beginning to care about you. Even just the slightest bit of emotion made you worth keeping alive. He didn’t know what it meant to have his affections returned. Whatever those affections may be. Tolerance. Amusement. Even merely lust.

He needed you to stay by his side.

When you stir the next morning, he feels drunk himself. Drunk off of the lack of sleep and the paranoia that plagued his thoughts through the night. His mind wright with the misgivings and delusions of insomnia. Thinking of how you would be better off without him here. That no harm would have come to you had you not been stuck with the liar God. Things might have worked more in your favor if you’d found yourself tangled in Thor’s string of fate. You wouldn’t be on Sakaar. You wouldn’t be masquerading as a slave. You wouldn’t have come so close to being raped.

You overload him with comments of jealousy from the moment you awake. That’s when the panic sets in. He'd seen it before in the way you looked at him. A smile always on your lips when he returns your gaze. You were beginning to harbor feelings for him that he would never deserve. He needed to make you realize he wouldn’t be your safety net. He would be your undoing.

He can’t bare to see the longing in your eyes. Blinded, he hopes you’ll see the truth of who he is. In the darkness, there were only demons.

He plunges into you then and the self-destructive venom pours out of his mouth. To keep him barren and alone in this world. He was nothing and deserved nothing.

_This is who I am. I am not your Prince Charming. I am your ruin. Remember that._

The tears escape from under the blindfold and before he can stop to turn back time and make it right again, the words leave your lips.

“I hate you.”

He tries to pull away but his body betrays him, delivering unwanted release.

You shift your weight off of him and he reaches for you, wanting more than anything to look into your eyes again, to hold you, to let you see in him the light so desperately trying to snuff itself off. Not his darkness.

But you recoil at his touch. As he knew you would.

You shiver and he covers you with the blankets, his eyes lingering over you with regret before he leaves the room.

He wanders Sakaar aimlessly before his sleepless night brings further repercussions. He stumbles and holds the wall for balance. Even Gods needed to sleep.

He falls into a lounge chair in one of the Great Halls and manages to sleep long enough for his nightmares to return. They are always visions of his mother. Of her dying, while he watched, unable to move. Unable to save her. Unable to say goodbye.

_It should have been me that died that day._


	8. I. Forgiveness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written to Broken by Juan Pablo Di Pace

Loki never returns to your chambers that night. Your mind immediately concludes that he has done what he threatened to do. You cast away any visions of the two together intimately with a curse under your breath.

You laid in bed until you couldn’t feel anything anymore. Until you felt numb to the pain.

Sitting up, you gather enough strength to bath and dress, deciding you’ve had enough of the stale room. You need fresh air before you go completely mad and succumb to the depression slowly creeping in.

You reach up to rip the collar off your neck but can’t bring yourself to do it. You wrap a coat around yourself for warm and for concealment of the charm.

Sakaar comes alive under the night sky, more than you ever imagined. While time had no meaning here, the citizens would often gather in the streets to worship the night. They are dressed in vibrant, illuminating colors as they dance through the streets. Glowing lanterns line every alley way, beckoning you along as you uncover every inch of the city.

Eventually you find your way into a secluded garden. You reach up to caress a flower but soon realize it too is artificial, like the rest of this godforsaken planet of scrap metal landscapes. Nothing here was real. Everything was a fabricated reality.

_Just like Loki._

You lie down on a hard brass bench and gaze up at the only thing tangible in this world; two moons linked overhead in an eternal embrace within the heavens. You breath in the midnight air, thankful to have finally found some sort of peace.

Images of your earlier encounter with Loki come to mind unwarranted. You try to shake them off but you can’t manage to ignore it.

Loki wasn’t yours. And you weren’t truly anything to him. You were a momentary lapse of judgement. That’s it. It felt good at first. You’d wanted him. But there was no need to get emotions involved.

Then why did you feel so broken?

You blamed Cyrus for having touched you the way he did. If Loki didn’t manage to kill him first, you would gladly take the honor.

You play with his sigil. Your eyes close as you begin to feel sleep come to claim you once again.

Something tickles your nose, disturbing your would-be slumber. Opening your eyes, a flutter of green wings clouds your vision. You twitch and a butterfly flies off your nose to make circles around your head. You reach out your hand and it obediently lands on your finger tips. It’s beautiful wings shimmer in the moonlight. It scurries away and your eyes follow it as it returns to its master, standing between the columned entry way to the faux garden. It lands on his shoulder and disappears into nothingness.

“Hello.”

“Hi,” you reply as you sit up straight at the sight of him.

He strolls up to you and you can almost taste his hesitation. It’s palatable.

“You didn’t want to join the festivities?” Loki asks.

“I’m not exactly in a festive mood.”

He nods slightly as if he understands. “Did you eat?”

“No.”

“Did you sleep at all?”

“What’s with the inquisition?” You ask. “Why should you care if I ate or slept or...”

“You act as if I don’t care about you in the slightest.”

“Do you?”

The silence between you is stifling. You feel as if you can’t breathe. As if his hand is once again gripping around your throat.

“I don’t think I’d be here right now if I didn’t care,” he says finally, coming to sit beside you. You shift away. “About the things I said to you ...”

“No, don’t,” you cut him off. “It’s done. We’re done.”

“Are we?” He eyes widen slightly. “Is that really what you want?”

“Yes...” You hesitate to say. “You and I were never even a ‘we’ to begin with. So it’s a clean cut.”

You aren’t sure what you had been or where you could go from here. You still had to stay with him in some capacity in order to find a mutual way out of Sakaar. At least until then.

“And now?” His hand is on your cheek. “What are we now?”

“Nothing,” you say but sigh as his cool touch soothes you. “We are nothing.”

“You don’t mean that.” His lips hover over your neck. “You are still wearing my sigil.”

“Loki,” you hiss as he kisses your neck just above the collar.

“I want you. Isn’t that enough?”

Before you can reply he asks, “do you want me?”

“Yes.” The word leaves your lips before you realize what you’ve set into motion. Your body betrays your willpower as you lean into him. His lips trail up to your ear.

But you muster enough clarity to push him away.

“I can’t control how I feel about you. I’m attracted to you, yes. I can’t really deny that at this point,” you explain. “But I don’t want any false pretenses between us. We aren’t exactly friends but we aren’t enemies either. What am I to you?”

“Do we need to put a label to it?”

He is stroking your hair, the tangled mess that it’s become after a day in bed. “Can’t we just be exactly as we are? Giving and taking what we need from each other?”

“I suppose we can,” you say softly. “And nothing else?”

He exhales. “Nothing else.” 

His hand falls to the back of your neck.

“Are you alright?” He asks. “Truly alright?”

“I don’t know how to answer that,” you admit.

“If I hurt you, if I caused you harm...”

“Loki...” Your hand is on his shoulder. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I owe you my life.”

He kisses you softly. Just for a moment before he pulls away.

“So I think we should discuss my plans with Stella.”

“Please,” you begin as you push away from him again. “You can do as you please but I can’t bare to hear it.”

You tremble and pull your coat tightly around you, blaming the cold. His arms come around you, pressing you against his chest.

“I said things to you. Things that hurt you,” he begins. “I can’t explain to you in a way that will make you understand ... Perhaps it really was as simple as wanting to see how you’d react.”

All those things he said... just to get a rise out of you?

“Stella doesn’t exactly hold my interest,” he adds as if reading through your thoughts.

“But another girl could interest you...” You trail off in embarrassment. You bury your face into his chest. You sigh as you take in the smell of him. Like frosted evergreens.

“Are you asking me to be monogamous?” He says, with the faint hint of a grin playing over his words. You feel the vibrations of laughter course through his chest.

You can’t speak other than to say, “shut up,” and collide your lips with his. You are still so angry and you put all of that emotion into your kiss, as you bite his lip in rebellion.

“So am I forgiven?” Loki moans into your mouth.

“No.”

You pull him down onto the bench below you and straddle him, discarding your coat to the ground. You feel his cock already hard between your legs. You pull your panties aside as he pushes your skirt up and out of the way. He slides in eagerly, letting out a groan as he does.

You focus on Loki, on how he holds you. On how he looks at you. You narrow in on the feeling of him inside you and cast out all thoughts of past misgivings. Of being hurt and abused.

You want him. In this moment, you want him.

You feel suddenly naive, not sure how to move your hips to properly allow him in. But you follow your instincts. When it feels good, you continue. When it doesn’t, you let him take the lead. His hands roam over your body as you start to find your rhythm, his palms settling on your hips as you rock forward.

You’ve never seen him so quiet during sex. He always had something to say, always the silver-tongued prince. But you find him mute, save for the moans you greedily take from him. Your eyes meet and you hold his gaze as you ride him.

You feel his grip tighten on your waist and you slow down until he groans a complaint. You slide him out of you to the very tip and then slowly take him back in all the way. Up and down. Repeating your game until you drive him mad.

He sits up abruptly and holds you against him as he quickens the pace the way he needs. Your hand pushes up under his shirt to feel his bare skin, needing the physical contact it provides. His fingers are digging into your back through the fabric of your dress. Your name comes out of his mouth in a sigh against your neck as he cums. It sends you over the edge and your climax follows quickly after.

You run your fingers through his hair. You hear him mumble something else but you hush him again with your lips.

“Now am I forgiven?” You hear him say as his head falls to your chest.

You can’t help but laugh.

“No.”


	9. I. Healing

Even while time passed unnoticed on Sakaar, the wounds on your heart gradually began to heal. Not completely but enough to make life a little brighter again. Though your scars still remained like etchings on your skin.

Loki was as relentless as ever in his need for you. While merely physical, it pulled you from the darkness in your mind. He took you daily and you compiled, equal in your need to be touched. You used him as much as he used you. He was gentle, sweet this time. Never once did you see the glimpse of your former “Master.” Not yet. It was as if he knew the pain you harbored inside your heart. As if he’d felt it within himself.

However you knew it was only a matter of time before the glimpse into Paradise faded into a mirage. His aggressive behavior was bound to return.

You stroll down the hall for breakfast. Loki was sound asleep when you awoke. You carefully maneuvered out of bed as not to disturb him. His arm was draped protectively around you. It brought too many emotions to the surface. You needed some air.

However, you linger long enough to watch him sleep. If only for a moment. His chest rising and falling in a perfect rhythm.

_Did Gods dream?_

His fingers flex open as if he is subconsciously searching for you. You are weak to him in this state. You take his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs in his sleep.

You hush him and smooth back his hair.

“I’m sorry, mother.”

You release your hand from his and step away. He turns and clutches your empty pillow. You leave him to his dreams.

You find a quaint spot beyond the dining hall; a small table and chairs overlooking Sakaar below. You watch as new debris falls upon the planet from all of the universe’s forgotten realms. You bite into a piece of fruit with a crunch. The juice runs down your chin. How quickly you’d settled into a routine here. More often than not, you were becoming accustomed to this new landscape beyond the horizon. Even the food here seemed less strange.

As you wipe your face with the back of your hand, you study the crowds below. As odd as this place could be, the people seemed happy enough. They all had a place, a routine. And while they couldn’t leave, they didn’t seem bothered by it. It may not be the worst place to be stuck... unless you were a slave.

Your eyes shift over the piles of fallen space junk. And your gaze locks on what appears to be a ship. Your heart skips a beat and before your mind can process potential loop holes, you are running back to your chambers.

You storm in, breathless, to find Loki freshly bathed and half dressed, drying his hair with a towel.

“We can leave!” You exclaim. You jump into his arms, almost knocking him back into the draining bath water.

“Goodbye Sakaar, Hello Asgard!” You smile brightly at him.

“So I suppose you've heard the news,” he says with a laugh. “Though I have to say, this wasn’t the reaction I was expecting from you.”

You step back, your hands still resting on his arms. “What news?”

“The reason we may be able to leave Sakaar...”

You stare at him blankly. “You’ve seen the ship?”

“No, that I’m ... Wait, what ship? You saw a ship?”

“Never mind that. What were you about to say?”

He runs his fingers through his damp hair.

“The reason I am trying to get close to Stella isn't because I want to sleep with her,” he explains. “It’s because I knew her and her brother are traveling entertainers. They didn’t stumble upon this place the way we did. They came here of their own accord. Meaning...”

“They have a ship,” you finish for him. “Maybe that was the one I saw. Are you planning to commandeer it?”

“So to speak...”

He sits at the edge of the bed. “We need to get close to them to learn where the ship is and what the access codes are. Cyrus isn’t exactly fond of either of us at the moment, thanks to our little... incident. So he is out of the question.”

“Where are you going with this?”

He looks up at you. “Being the supposed King of Asgard has its benefits. Such as the promise of tremendous wealth. That can be quite alluring to a potential queen.”

You step back. “Are you saying... what I think you’re saying?”

He stands up and reaches out to you. “Don’t get angry.”

“You asked Stella to marry you?” You gape at him. “What is with you and half-assed planning?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Can’t we hijack it? The codes can’t be that hard to crack.”

“They are hundreds of digits long, kitten...”

“Oh,” you sigh in defeat. “Still, you can’t marry her.”

“Why not?” He smirks.

“Because she’s horrible.”

“You’ve barely spoken to her.”

“Neither have you! It’s been, what, two weeks? And I don’t need to speak with her to know that she’s horrible. “

He chuckles. “So judgmental.”

“Maybe I’ll marry Cyrus,” you offer. Though the thought makes you cringe.

“You’re technically a slave. And he’s a rapist.”

“Again, I’m only a slave because of your half-assed planning...”

He smiles at you and strokes your cheek with his thumb. “It’s not like I’m serious about marrying her. I just have to convince her that I am. Enough to get the codes.”

You fall onto the bed, pulling him down with you by the fabric of his shirt.

“I don’t like the sound of this ‘convincing’,” you mutter before your lips find each others. He teases you, tracing his tongue over your bottom lip.

“Jealousy, jealousy,” he murmurs over your lips. “We are just doing what it takes to stay alive, remember?”

He reaches under your skirt to feel your growing wetness. He pushes the fabric of your panties to the side in order to slide his finger in. You moan, bucking up against his hand and reply, “I don’t see how this is an effective survival tactic.”

He leans back, pulling his fingers away from you. “Oh I’ll gladly stop if that’s what you want.”

You whine and reach for him. “You know I don’t want that.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Tell me what you want, pet.” There it was again. Pet. He hadn’t called you that since that night with Cyrus. It makes your heart race.

He pulls your panties down and you respond by pushing the strap of your dress off your shoulder enough to expose your breasts for him.

“Well?” he prompts again before taking your breast into his mouth. He swirls his tongue over your hardened nipple. You reach forward to unbuckle his pants and he helps you to slide them down enough so that his cock can spring free. You wrap your legs around him to encourage him further but he pushes in just tip, smearing your wetness over your folds.

“I’m waiting.”

You sigh and reach for him, guiding him in as you finally admit, “I want you to fuck me.”

“That’s my good girl,” he whispers as he thrusts further into you. Filling you with his warmth. You grip his ass and arch your hips into him, pulling his cock in the rest of the way.

“Does this make me your mistress?” You whisper into his neck.

“Concubine perhaps.”

“Mistress sounds classier though,” you whine.

“I much prefer you as my slut,” Loki groans as he shoves his fingers into your mouth to suck. You greedily do so, imagining you have his cock on your tongue.

You pull back.

“You have to tell me what you want,” he says with a knowing smirk.

“I want to suck your cock,” you admit as your eyes glaze over, drunk off of him and the pleasure he’s giving you. You want release so badly but the thought of taking him inside your mouth makes you wetter.

Loki pulls out of you, the hunger in his eyes matching your own.

He switches with you so he is sitting on the edge of the bed as you fall to your knees. His cock is glistening with the sheen of your wetness. You start by slowly stroking his cock, one hand delicately fondling his balls. You lean forward to suck on them softly. He moans above you and you smile. You lick your juices off of him gladly, humming as you take in the taste of your own arousal. You have to admit there is a slight sweetness to it.

You push the tip of his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue over the sensitive head. His hand is in your hair, pushing you down to take in more. You do so eagerly, sucking harder as you bring it back out til just the tip is on your lips. You kiss him there before you push as much of him as you can take back into your throat.

He groans in pleasure.

“That’s it, my sweet girl.” He grabs a fistful of hair as you continue. “Just like that.”

He is close. You pull out enough so that the tip of his cock is rested on your tongue. You continue to stroke until he rewards you with a shot of cum into your awaiting mouth. You are caught off guard by the taste of it. It’s not an unpleasant taste but it’s surely an acquired one, like earl grey tea. But you swallow it down happily.

He breathes heavily above you. “Such a natural,” he says slyly. His fingers hook into your pussy, pulling you back up and over him.

“Tell me what you want,” you mock.

“I want you to sit on my face,” he hums. “So I can taste your cunt.”

He positions his mouth just below your dripping mound as you straddle his face. His breath alone sends waves of pleasure through you. The tip of his tongue glides over your folds and up to circle around your clit. He pushes a finger inside as he sucks, the combined pleasure making your eyes roll into the back of your head. You run your fingers through his hair, moaning encouragement. He pumps his fingers faster as he greedily takes another orgasm from you. You cum against his mouth. He sucks down harder as you rock against him through the waves of release. Your fingers slide out of his hair and you collapse onto the bed beside him, spent.

You both lie still for a moment. A considerable space between you. Neither of you were ever game for post-coitus canoodling.

“Would you ever want to get married?” You ask after you’ve both caught your breath.

He goes wide-eyed. “You’re sweet but I don’t think we...”

“Idiot, I mean in general,” you clarify with a sigh.

He reaches over to play with your hair and replies, “I almost was once.”

You sit up to look at him, urging him to continue.

“Before I fell out of favor with my father, he had a marriage arranged with an Asgardian woman. Sigyn was her name.”

“Did you love her?” You daringly ask.

His eyes wander to your lips, his finger tracing over them. “Perhaps I did. For a time.”

He pauses for a moment as if he means to say something else but leans back and speaks to the ceiling, “or perhaps I am incapable of love.”

“I don’t believe that,” you murmur, shortening the distance between you as you scoot closer. “You loved your mother, didn’t you? She taught you how to use magic, right?”

You hear his heart begin to race, his muscles tensing up. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

He smiles as he leans back onto his elbow to look at you.

“My sweet girl,” he says. “I don’t deserve the affection you hold for me.”

You practically choke over his words. “Loki, I...”

He cuts you off with laughter as he pulls himself out of bed. He pulls his pants back on, securing them with a buckle.

His laughter ceasing and you see something flash over his expression, if just for a moment. Something beyond the controlled, calculating lover you’d known him to be. As if he was losing restraint. As if he was letting go of something.

“Come now,” He beckons. “It’s time to announcement my engagement.”


	10. I. Open Wounds

“And I said to him, I said to him, that’s my cousin!”

The room erupts into laughter. Fueled by alcohol and ambition.

“And then I executed him,” The Grandmaster adds before taking a long swing of his drink. The laughter continues. You cringe.

Standing at the back of the room with the other servants, you realize you stand out like a wolf amongst lambs. They all look defeated, as if all the world has forgotten them. They each wear large heavy collars made of the same material as the rest of the planet. You absentmindedly brush your fingertips over the velvet cord around your neck, remembering when Loki first fashioned you with a collar of leather. Some of their masters did not even bother to polish the stray edges down enough so that they wouldn’t scratch or poke into their skin. Each of them wore a companion ring of swollen flesh around their throats.

The chatter of metal on glass averts your attention.

“My friends, my friends!” The Grandmaster exclaims as he rises from his chair, drink in hand. “I’ve called you all here today to announce something very special.”

Loki shifts in his seat next to Stella who has his hand in an iron grip. He dressed for the occasion as well, as if gearing for battle. You try to catch his gaze but all his affection is aimed toward the blonde seductress.

“While I haven’t known him long, I’ve grown quite found of our illusionist,” he says, turning to Loki. Stella smiles brightly at him, her fingers running through his hair. You try not to flinch.

“And here he has found a home, and a queen of his own.”

The crowd begins to whisper in rumor.

“My dear friend, King Loki has asked our very Sakaarian, Stella, to marry him.”

The room fills with mixed reactions. Gasps, applause, more whispers, cheering. You clinch your fists.

You search the room for Cyrus to try to gage his reaction but you don’t see him in the thick crowd ahead.

“That’s your master, isn’t it?”

You turn and see a young girl standing beside you. No older than ten. You eye her mangled collar and tattered clothing.

You nod. Loki stands to speak but you can’t hear what he is saying, distracted.

“How come you don’t wear chains?” She asks. “And you dress so nicely...”

“She’s a pleasure slave,” the woman beside her replies. “You’re too young for that.”

“But still, he seems to treat you kindly.” You note the bruises on her arms as she plays with the fabric of your skirt.

“Does he beat you?” She asks.

“She’ll make a beautiful bride,” you hear someone in the crowd announce.

“To your children!” Someone else cheers.

“Does he?” The little girl asks again and you return your attention to her.

“No, he doesn’t,” you reply. _Did he?_ You remember his hand around your throat. 

“Why?”

The crowd comes alive with merriment, clanking their drinks together in toast and conversation. Had you missed something? You search for Loki but he is no longer standing beside the Grandmaster. Neither is Stella.

“I suppose he’ll be rid of you soon,” the older girl remarks. “His new wife will surely give him enough pleasure.”

She leans into her junior companion and adds, “Though there is always a chance he’ll keep her around. I’ve heard tales of the pleasure slaves who service husbands. That they endure the hatred meant for the wives.”

Your gaze locks onto Cyrus, who has been nestled in the corner of the room. He slowly begins limping toward you. You feel a rush of panic numb your senses. The room seems tighter, warmer.

“I have to go.” You try to leave but the older girl grabs your wrist with a surprising amount of force.

“He may not beat you now, but he will,” she says. “They always do.”

You shake off her hold and push through the thickening crowd in desperation. Their laughter morphs into a sort of the heckling, like they all know you are a lost cause.

You run from the room without any true aim. Reaching beneath the skirts of your dress, you retrieve your latest and favorite accessory. One of Loki’s daggers. He felt it necessary that you be armed from now on.

You had begun to forget the feel of cool metal on your thigh and the smooth relief of always being armed. You should have been better prepared for Cyrus’s assault. Clearly your focus had been jaded.

You turn around and see nothing but the usual crowd of aristocratic Sakaarians, who regard you coldly. You feel like a mediator between the two worlds here: between slavery and freedom. You were unchained physically but mentally, you were boggled down by shackles you could not fathom.

You continue onward, holding the dagger to your side.

As you round the corner, you see Loki in front of you. He is wide eyed, his clothing disheveled.

And he is covered in bright crimson lipstick stains.

He runs toward you and pulls at your arm to help you keep pace with him as he continues to charge forward.

“I need to get out of here,” he says, exasperated.

“Your new fiancé too much for you already?”

“Shut up.”

“Loki! Loki, my king!”

You both turn at the sound of Stella’s voice echoing off the walls as she approaches, just beyond view.

Without a word, Loki pulls you through an open door, and closes it softly. You quickly find that he has expertly picked a supply closet as your hiding spot, cluttered with tools and forgotten relics. It’s a tight fit for you both to stand inside. He holds you in front of him, hand clenched over your mouth to silence you.

“Loki! Why are you playing so hard to get?” Stella calls again from outside. “It’s not very becoming of a man.”

He pulls you closer and you unintentionally grind into him. You feel his arousal growing against your back. He sighs and his other hand falls to smooth over the side of your breast.

“Loki...” You whisper into his hand.

“Hush, kitten,” he says against your ear.

“Ah, there you are!”

Loki moves back. His whole body stifens.

“Did you lose him already?”

 _Cyrus._ He had been so close behind you. You grip the dagger tighter. Loki passes his hand over it, loosening your hold.

“I just... misplaced him. Have you seen him around?”

“No and it’s a good thing I haven’t. Are you serious about going through with this?”

“Why not? He’s a king. I like kings.”

“You’ve known him for all of a moon cycle. And he stabbed me...”

“Minor details.”

They are right in front of the door now. Their shadows cast through the gap of the door. Loki’s grip on your mouth tightens.

“That slave of his owes me for my new limp.”

“You’ll get your retribution.”

He grunts before she continues.

“Besides, when Loki and I are wed, she’ll become my property too. Meaning...”

You hear the door creek as she leans into the other side of it. Their shadows mingling into one.

“You can fuck her or kill her. Whichever gives you more pleasure.”

“Ah my dear sister, But I’m the one that’s suppose to give you a wedding present.”

She moans.

The door moves slightly with a grunt. It rouses something in Loki. His hand leaves your mouth as he hikes your skirt up to your hips. You lean forward into the door and the creaking sound ceases thanks to your counter balance. You look back at him and he lifts a finger to his lips, reminding you to keep quiet. He pulls you up onto your tiptoes so you can line up properly with his groin.

You hate how easily you fall for his games. How quickly you say yes to him.

He teases you by sliding the tip of his cock up and down over your opening. His hands pull at your hips until your ass is against him. You bite your lip hard to stop from moaning as he plunges into you. You can taste the drawn blood in your mouth.

He is moving painfully slow, to keep from making too much noise. But he moves enough to give you both the right amount of friction. To satisfy your growing desire for each other. You were becoming more unhinged, more desperate in your need to satiate your lust. Being around each other so often made it that much worse.

As quiet as you are, there is no ignoring the sounds of your wetness, sloshing against him as he moves. Luckily, the pair on the other side of the door doesn’t seem to be paying much attention. The noises of their own lovemaking drowning out any whimper that escapes your lips. The door shakes and Loki begins to thrust into you in time with their movement. The two couples begin to sync.

Loki circles his fingers around your clit until you lose your self control. His cock throbs inside you. You suck in air between your clenched teeth and drop the dagger as you both find release. It hits the tile with a _clink_.

“Did you hear something?”

You both freeze. Loki’s hand comes to rest over yours against the door. The handle jostles.

“Move,” Cyrus orders and he comes crashing into the closet. Loki’s arm is around you, pulling you slowly back to be flesh against the back of the closet. Your legs begin to shake. The aftermath of sex drips down your thigh. You are sure he can hear your heart thundering inside your ribcage. 

You stare at Cyrus wide-eyed as his stale breath waifs over you. His eyes are glued to you, without truly seeing you there.

 _Another illusion_ , you realize.

Cyrus sees the dagger and upon inspecting it, his eyes darken.

“He was here,” he says.

He pockets the weapon and stares into the emptiness in front of him. You dare not even breathe.

“I’ll just fuck him later,” Stella sighs. “Lets go. We need to rehearse more for next week’s performance.”

Cyrus hesitates in the doorway before Stella pulls him away. You both stand still until the clicking of Stella’s heels becomes a distant memory. You relax and take a much needed breath as Loki pulls out of you. He straightens your dress for you. The skirt conceals the shameful fluids on your legs that make you blush.

You give him a faint smile. You lick your fingers and attempt to wipe the lipstick marks from his neck. The motherly gesture feels foreign. Uncomfortable.

“What a whore,” you mutter.

“She’s impossible,” Loki agrees.

You laugh. “Not her. You.” You continue to rub at the markings of her lips. It barely makes any impact.

He rolls his eyes but smirks and tilts your chin up. “I think I prefer you with my hand over your mouth.” He kisses you roughly.

Your hands are in his hair and you shift away enough to ask, “So what’s plan B?” You help to pull his clothing back into some sort of order.

“There isn’t one.”

“Well you aren’t going to continue pursuing her,” you argue. “Not after what she said.”

As he looks at you, you could swear you see a wild fire burning behind those emerald eyes. He slides a finger under your collar and pulls, so it’s taut to your flesh.

“I’m going to continue,” he adds firmly. “And I’d appreciate it if you remembered your place.”

_My place? Where did that come from?_

Loki moves out of the closet first, checking that you are in the clear. He nods when he is sure that you are safe to escape. He walks ahead. You trail behind by a few steps, locked inside his shadow. As if he pulled you by a chain.

At last, he finally admitted it. That he planned on fucking her to get what he wanted. Perhaps that’s what he was doing with you as well. Playing you for a fool, as you first suspected.

You hate that it makes you feel defeated. What did you ever really expect? Had you been hoping to gain his favor? To be the only one he wanted? To make him blind to all others? To turn this game of give and take into something more?

Unbeknownst to him, it would be his greatest illusion: that you could ever be his and that he could ever truly be yours in return.


	11. I. Severed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably one of my longer chapters. I didn’t have the heart to break it up. Thank you all for the lovely comments. They keep me inspired to keep this dark romance alive.

You decided it was time you came up with your own plan of escape. You and Loki were no longer a team. The ignorant bliss of whatever your relationship had been had effectively ended when he agreed to continue on course with Stella. Though perhaps it had ended when he choked you. When he took your virginity. When he made you his slave.

Even when your life was threatened, he showed no signs of hesitation. All hope of being more to him than just a pawn in his game was gone.

How stupid had you been?

You are wise enough to resist his charms. And while you can’t deny that you still want him, that your traitorous body yearns for his touch, you know better than to cave in. When he reached for you, you did not respond. When he moaned your name to sway you, you pulled away. Your last sexual memory of him felt stagnant in the air. Like the cramped space in that closet.

 _Remember your place_.

He would be getting his sexual gratification elsewhere now, you remembered.

While he slept, you’d sneak out into the streets of Sakaar, to exchange gossip with other slaves. They all saw Sakaar as their final resting place. But the young slaves, the children, held onto some glimmer of promise.

Many slaves spoke of the bath houses and how, under the sanctity of the healing waters, its visitor were encouraged to shed the veil of secrecy. The slaves often fought over service in the baths, to use the gained knowledge as bartering tools.

That morning, you decide to venture into the baths to see for yourself what information could be extracted. As a pleasure slave, you had luxuries other servants did not. The baths were free roam for you. To cleanse yourself of your physical sins. To be purified before whatever Gods lie watch. Before returning to your Master’s bed. As good as new.

You wrap yourself in a robe, the same robe from the night of the orgy. It smells of him. You curse under your breath but tie it on anyway. You remove his collar finally, determined to never wear it again. It didn’t belong to you anymore.

You didn’t belong to him.

Loki walks through the door with smile. You hadn’t seen him all day but didn’t pay his absence much mind. His expression quickly fades into a frown when he sees you.

“Going somewhere?”

You pull up your hair and pin it carefully into place. “To the baths,” you say bluntly.

“And you aren’t going to take me with you?” His hand snakes around you. You pull away and turn back to the mirror.

“The baths are separated by sex,” you reply. “You can’t come in with me.”

He pushes himself between you and the mirror. “But you aren’t the least bit concerned about being naked amongst strangers?”

“You’ve seen me naked and you are practically a stranger,” you mutter.

Before he can reply you push past him and leave the room.

———

  
The baths appear as if they have been constructed from glass, a stark contrast to the rest of Sakaar. The floors gleam in the light of the afternoon suns. A cascade of color shimmering off every surface of water. Each pool was large, an expansive oasis for its many patrons wading through the water. An artificial waterfall filled the space with the calming sound of trickling water. Servants lined the edges of the pools, armed with towels, drinks, salts and oils.

This is how you imagined Asgard, from what Loki described. It was a small glimpse into his world.

A servant stands beside you, holding her hands out to you. You oblige, shifting out of the robe and handing it to her. At first you cover your breasts with the palms of your hands. However looking around, none of the women seem bothered by their nakedness. There are beautiful young women, old women, tall, short, slender and plump. Within the baths, it didn’t matter what the outside world thought of them.

You let your hands fall to your side and step into the pool.

The water is warm and bubbles upon contact with your skin. A slight froth forms around you, concealing your body below the water. You smile, remembering the bubble baths you took on Earth.

You lean back against the edge and, closing your eyes, begin to breathe in the aroma wafting up from the pool. Like lavender and lilacs.

“Did you come here alone?”

You look up to see Stella sitting across from you. She is rubbing salts over her arms as she studies you. As if she is trying to piece together what Loki ever saw in you. You wondered that yourself.

“Or did your master decide to indulge in the men’s baths?”

You don’t reply, moving the bubbles so they can form a protective layer around you.

“I haven’t seen him all day,” Stella goes on. “He must be exhausted from last night.”

You try not to glare, your eyes still locked to the bubbles. You slide further down into the pool until the water is wrapped around your neck, caressing your chin.

“You know, as his pleasure slave, I’d love to hear a story or two from your romps with him in bed. Anything I should know?”

You stare at her above your fortress of bubbles.

“Perhaps I should ask you the same for your brother,” you comment.

She raises an eyebrow in intrigue. “Oh?”

“He is clearly interested in my services,” you say.

Stella looks at you in annoyance. “Don’t flatter yourself. My brother wouldn’t even give you the honor of looking your way.”

You stifle laughter underneath the water and decide to try another tactic. “I hear you are performing in a few days.”

She smiles, thankful for the new course of the conversation.

“You’ll be able to see what true talent is.”

She cups water in her hands and pours it over her shoulders to wash off the exfoliant.

“You traveled before coming here, right?” You ask. “You must have been to many amazing places before getting stuck here.”

“We’re not stuck!” She barks. “We can leave. We aren’t slaves to this place like you are. It may not please the Grandmaster but we still retain the ability to roam as we like.“

“So you have a ship then?”

A servant approaches with a tray of the cherry like fruits. She offers you one but you shake your head, not wanting to admit to yourself what tastes you craved now that you and Loki were no longer intimate.

Stella happily plops one into her mouth and sighs. “The finest in the fleet,” she replies.

“I’d love to see that. I’ve never seen any ships on Sakaar.”

“The Grandmaster holds them in the armory with his other vessels...” she pauses and regards you coldly. “I don’t even know why I’m speaking with you.”

You were so close to getting the information you needed. You just needed to pry further. You open your mouth to speak when a swish of black hair catches your eye against the white backdrop of the baths.

A woman strolls towards you. Her pin-straight hair sways at her waist. She is breathtaking, with the perfect features you always wished you possessed. A small waist frames her wide hips, her large breasts bounce slightly as she walks. She smirks as she catches you gazing at her.

You never found yourself attracted to women but something about her was hard to ignore.

She slinks into the pool, sliding in beside you. The ends of her long hair fan out around her body.

“Good afternoon,” she greets you both. She leans back and pushes her chest up as she inhales deeply. She exhales and the bubbles pop and float away from you, uncovering small patches of your nakedness below.

“So relaxing, isn’t it?” She turns and smiles at you. Her eyes are a mesmerizing leafy green. Your heart stops. It couldn’t possibly be him, could it?

“So...” she turns to Stella. “I hear you are marrying that Asgardian fella. How lucky you are.”

Stella eyes the strange woman. Her blue eyes cast under the shadow of disgust. “Yes, I am.”

“I hear he is quite an experienced lover.” The woman bites a cherry. “Very well endowed.”

“Oh yes,” Stella eagerly agrees. “Not that you’ll ever know him personally enough to see for yourself.”

She chuckles in response. “No, I suppose I won’t.”

“He’s so determined too. He worships my body,” Stella brags. “He gave me three orgasms last night. I was begging him to stop.” The new woman seems unimpressed and you bite your tongue. _Three?_

“You’re a horrible liar,” the woman replies coldly.

Stella looks as if she’s been stabbed.

“Excuse me?”

“He wasn’t with you last night.” The woman’s eyes darken before she turns to you. The menacing haze held in the swirls of her irises begins to dissipate, her expression softening.

“What about you, sweet girl?” She asks as she turns your chin to meet her gaze. “Have you experienced this God of lust?”

You lock onto her. You know now that you’ve been lost in those eyes before. That you once looked into them, longing to peel back the layers of their owner’s cool facade.

“I have,” you say finally. “I’m not impressed.”

The woman’s eyes widen ever-so-slightly as if she’s been caught off guard. But she blinks and relaxes. A grin curls over her lips.

“I’d like to talk with you,” she says. “More privately.”

She stands and presents a hand to you. You hesitate but take hold and follow her out of the pool, leaving a dumbstruck Stella in your wake.

She pulls you toward the steam rooms. The warm mist washes over you as you enter. Small droplets of water ornament your hair. She leads you to the back where a set of smaller waterfalls serve as a makeshift shower. It is secluded. Empty.

“You can drop the act, Loki,” you say. You cover yourself behind folded arms.

She smirks at you before pushing you into the tiled wall and pinning your arms above your head. She presses her breasts against yours, your hard nipples grazing over hers.

“What? You’ve never thought about being with a woman before?” She whispers against your neck.

You turn away, the heat rising to your cheeks. Your neck is left more exposed as a side effect.

“No I haven’t.”

“Aren’t you just a little... curious?”

Her free hand is on your inner thigh. Inching upward. Her lips are on your neck, soft and luscious. She still smells of him though. There was no denying it was the God of Mischief.

“Stop it, Loki,” you order and are surprised when he compiles, shifting back into his masculine form. His hand remains on your thigh.

“I had to find some way to get your attention,” he remarks. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

You look past him toward the rest of the baths, fearful that you will be caught in the act. He follows your gaze.

“Are you suddenly feeling bashful?” He asks with his token smirk.

“Get off me,” you scrawl up at him. You cross your legs together tightly. You squirm under him but he still has you pinned.

“Is this it then?” He asked. “Are you officially done with our games?”

“I was never an equal player in them,” you reply. “This has always been about you.”

“You aren’t being honest with yourself.” He holds you still and lets his fingers glide over your opening. “At least your body is.”

“Let go.” You glare up at him.

“Not until you admit it.” His finger pushes inside and you squirm, wiggling your hips back and forth.

“Admit what?”

“Admit you crave me.” He kisses down your neck again, his caress just as gentle as when he held a female form. He trails down as far as he can go while keeping your hands locked above you.

“That you still want me. Even though you try so hard to deny it.”

“I don’t.” You bite your lip and he finds just the right spot behind your ear.

“Oh but you do.” His cock is nestled between your thighs. “And I want you just as badly.”

He releases your wrists. His forehead rests against yours and his breathing quickens. “I hate it. I hate how much I want you.”

You are mute, unable to form words. Your whole body is trembling. You can’t tell if you are aroused, furious or flustered. Or a mix of all three.

“I saw that you were beginning to pull away from me,” he continues. His fingers run down your arm. Leaving prickled skin in their wake. “And I didn’t know how to convince you to stay.”

“Try.”

A kiss is his answer. His lips push past any hesitation you harbored as you open up, letting him in. You are afraid, afraid to open your heart to him. You know his darkness. But you want to find his light.

You don’t want to stop. You need to explore this new horizon.

There isn’t only lust in his kiss. You feel it in the way his tongue delicately traces yours that this is something new. Something new for you both. His hands grip onto you as if you might dissipate into nothing, becoming just another illusion. He is saying your name, over and over again. Until it loses its meaning.

Not _pet_. Not _kitten_. Not _slut_ or _whore_.

Just your name.

You feel a sensation rush over you like a bolt of lightning and you grab the reigns to act upon it.

He bucks backward in response to the sudden and harsh impact to his cheek. He holds his hand there and readjusts his jaw.

Your hand hovers in midair, as you realize you’ve slapped him. You are breathing so heavily you might faint.

“No,” you gasp. Your eyes sting with fresh tears. “I don’t want you. I don’t want this.”

You see your pendant fall to the floor from between his finger tips. He had concealed it until now. His expression is blank.

“I won’t let you use me anymore,” You say before walking out of the steam room and leaving him behind.


	12. I. Loki’s POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki’s POV: Starting from Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! 5,000+ hits. I am really in awe. This all started as just a fun way to pass the time and get my creative muscle working. But I am doing this for you guys now. I hope you continue to enjoy!

He was getting too close. Losing control over the situation. Everyday, it was becoming more unhinged, bordering on the edge of chaos. Was it his hunger for you that drove him mad? Or was it something else?

He used you, he would remind himself. And you used him. That’s all it ever was or ever would be.

But when he woke with you beside him, your hair tickling his nose, your hands locked to the forearms wrapped too intimately around you, he feared what he was doing to you.

And what he was doing to himself.

His arrangement with Stella was causing a rift between you. Not that your relationship had begun on solid grounds. It was just sex, he reminded himself.

When Stella went for him, her naked body pressed to his, he could have easily said yes. He could have easily taken her then, the way he had taken you. Time and time again. But he couldn’t. He didn’t want her.

He fled from the room until he found you, like a godsend standing in the hallway. And when he pulled you into that closet, he knew what he wanted. He took you, in that cramped space, with your clothes still on and his would-be wife fucking her brother on the other side of the door.

 _You’re mine_.

He needed to possess you. To have something that felt real. But he was flawed and you could see right through him.

_Remember your place._

_Weak little Midgardian, you crave subjugation_ , he reminded himself. _You need to submit._ He imagined you kneeling before him, hungrily peering up at him. Mouth open wide. Hands chained to your back. But you were happy. You weren’t afraid of being his possession. He could provide for all your needs. You’d live and die for him.

He needed it that way. It was the only way he knew.

_Stop thinking it could be any different._

You began to slip from his grasp in that instant. He noticed your absence at night and how you didn’t yearn from him the way he did for you. Passing like a faded memory. A summer romance that was never meant to last through the harsh cold of winter. His winter. 

You were no longer equals. Though, had you ever been? The balance of power always tilted in his favor.

He saw the glint of your pendant, unworn on the table. _She must have forgotten it_ , he thought in ignorance.

 _Slap_.

The sound rang in his ears, taunting him. The impact flew right through him like a gunshot.

He watches you as you leave, thinking of all the ways to bring you back to him. But they all feel like empty promises. He decides in that moment that all his scheming didn’t matter.

He would never leave Sakaar. But you would return to Midgard. To that strange building where he’d found you. To that equally strange man who’d sent you both here.

That he would make sure of.

He makes the announcement to the Grandmaster within the hour, knowing he would spread word. Anyone who mattered would know of your change of status. You would no longer be his or anyone’s servant. You would be respected as a visiting royal in exchange for Loki’s counsel and loyalty. While he tried to bargain for your safe transport off the planet, that was strictly off limits. But he hoped getting close to the Grandmaster may lead to a more favorable outcome. In time.

He needed you gone.

“Did she not satisfy you?” Stella’s hands creep over his chest from behind him. “Or was it that she slept with women behind your back?”

“You need to stop telling tales,” Loki mutters. He wonders for a moment what it would have been like to take you in female form. To push that soft body into yours. To watch you squirm as he pushed the limits of your sexuality. He threaded his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“You need to give me what you promised,” Stella whispers against his neck before nibbling on his earlobe. “After the show, you’re mine.”

There is no escaping it now. His fate has caught up to him.

She leaves him to pace the length of his chambers. Fingers locked to his forehead in pensive thought. He dresses in the suit she left for him and paints dark stripes below his eyes as was traditional for the culture.

His new fiancé’s performance would take place in the false atrium. The light of the sister moons streaming in from above, a natural spotlight. He walks in with Stella on his arm but she soon flutters away to mingle with her audience.

He grabs a cocktail and walks the length of room. He wonders how you are doing, if you are faring well. He still feels responsible for you in a capacity. Were you safe? Were you happy?

Did you think of him?

He takes a long swig of his drink.

The crowd is a mix of servants and masters. The aristocrat are equally ordained with paint beneath their eyes, the colors and patterns signifying their status. He could rule them, he thought. He could bend them to his liking once the Grandmaster’s rule ended. He could be happy here.

Though he never knew what true happiness felt like.

A shimmer of gold on green silk catches his eye from across the room. A beautiful woman in his colors. He couldn’t ignore that. She is leaning against the wall, a leg propped up to keep balance. The fabric of her dress parts way at her thigh. A mask over her eyes matches the paint strikes swirling on her cheeks.

The crowd moves in front of him, blocking his view. He shifts to peer around them but quickly gets frustrated by the constant dance of back and forth. He moves toward her to get a better view, meeting her half way in the middle. She’s drinking as well, eyeing him over the edge of the glass rim. A glint of gold catches his eye on her thigh. A garter belt of velvet.

She’s giving him a sly smile behind that drink. Taunting him.

_Devilish woman._

“Loki!” Stella finds him again. He groans and takes another long swig. “What do you think?”

She twirls around in her performance ensemble, a sheer slip of tight fabric that wraps around just enough to cover her decency. He is barely looking at her, his gaze locked to the woman at the end of the room.

She’s leaving.

“Darling, would you excuse me?” He shifts around her but before he can escape, she grabs his arm.

“My performance is in thirty minutes!”

“I’ll be back. I promise,” he assures, kissing her cheek before sprinting off in the direction of the woman.

He catches sight of her down the hall, the sway of her dress rounding the corner. He has to know who she is. She is leading him toward the baths, he realizes, where not a soul is left to occupy it.

She’s discarded her heels in the entryway to the pool. Her panties just ahead of them. He licks his lips in anticipation.

“You’ve led me here for a reason, I take it?” His voice echoes off the tile. The trickling of water is the only reply received. He places his drink on the floor and loosens his tie.

She appears around a column and he realizes what the gold was that caught his eye. His sigil. She removes the mask.

“Shouldn’t you be with your little wifey?”

He slowly walks toward you. “I could care less about her.” His eyes roam over your body.

“You’re being a bad husband.”

“I’m not her husband,” he says with a glare toward your thigh. “How did you get that? I thought this arrangement was over.”

You smirk at him. “Oh it is.”

You shift the dress slowly off your shoulders. “Didn’t you say you wanted to tare this off of me?”

Seeing you like this, it takes every ounce of self control not to fulfill his promise. To turn that pretty garment into nothing but fine shreds of cloth on the tile. He could have you, if he wanted to.

He clenches his fist.What was making him hesitate?

The dress pools at your feet.

“Come for a swim with me.”

You wade into the water and he stares off after you.

“Why are you doing this?” The ripples of water are beckoning him to follow you in. His fingers are at the buttons of his shirt before he can realize what he’s doing.

“Doing what?”

He could make you his again. He imagined pushing you into the edge of the pool while he took you from behind. The water sloshing between you. Until you were crying out for him to stop. He wanted to hear you moan his name.

“You were the one who pushed me away, remember?” He reminds you.

He wants you. Gods, he wants you. His clothes join yours in a heap. You push off from the ledge until you are in the middle of the pool. All blood rushes between his legs.

“I did,” you agree. “Don’t you have a performance to be at?”

“Screw the performance.” He swims after you. “This is much more appealing.”

“Oh really?” You kick your feet in his direction, splashing him.

“Pet....”

“I’m sorry, what?” You splash him again.

“Temptress.”

“Try again.” _Splash_.

“You want to be punished, don’t you?” He has caught up to you and presses his body flesh to yours. You pull him to the edge of the pool. His hands glide over your skin as if he is mesmerizing ever dimple, every freckle. He breathes you in, as if he means to absorb you into him.

“How weak you are to my touch,” he murmurs into your neck as his arms wrap around your back.

You pull away and reach down for his cock, delicately wrapping your fingers around him as you begin to stroke up and down. He moans and leans his head into the nape of your neck.

“Oh how I’ve missed this,” he murmurs.

He is about to come undone into your hand. _You want this_ , he thinks in satisfaction. _You need me._

You let go.

He jerks forward at the loss of your touch.

“Am I the weak one?” You hum against his lips before you swim off toward the entrance. You reach for a towel as you step out of the waters.

He reaches for his still hard cock.

You smirk and redress, readjusting the mask back in place.

“My dear king,” you taunt while handing him a towel. “You wouldn’t want to be late.”


	13. I. An End

When you return to the atrium, your heart is racing, threatening to push its way up your throat with each persistent thump. Your hand comes up to your chest in an attempt to steady your breathing. You had wanted him to take you. How easily you could have bent to his needs. And to your own. But you need him to come running to you if this was going to work. You needed to tilt the power pendulum back in your direction. 

You fall into the crowd, becoming just another face amongst them. You eagerly grab another drink, thankful for the courage the first one provided.

Loki soon follows in after you, looking more irritated than when you left him. His eyes dance around the room as he looks for you. You’ve stirred an anger within him. Unleashed the beast. Were you prepared to face the consequences?

“I see you’ve thoroughly embraced your new freedom.”

You turn and smile at the Grandmaster beside you.

“Loki is most kind to have done this for me,” you reply plainly.

“You are quite lucky indeed,” he says. “If I had been your master, well...”

You take another gulp of the alcoholic beverage.

The crowd begins to cheer in anticipation as the lights dim.

“As long as this doesn’t inspire rebellion amongst your former kind, I won’t have reason to execute you,” the Grandmaster warns.

Not a moment could pass in Sakaar without your life being threatened. You suddenly missed your dull desk job.

“Cheers,” he tilts his drink to yours before joining the rest of the crowd.

Sipping your alcohol, your gaze shifts toward the heavens above where Stella is wrapped in the silk cords, draped from the glass ceiling. Cyrus is below, climbing up to join her. His limp has fully healed and he is using his regained energy in full display. He reaches her and holds her so that she is dangling above your head. The crowd gasps as they begin to spin. It’s an act of strength and intimacy as they move from one rope to the next in a torrid affair of silk and skin.

“Found you,” Loki whispers into your neck. A chill runs over your spine.

_Shit._

“Can’t run from me this time.”

“Who said I’d run?”

He reaches his arms around you and you hold him there. He guides you backward with him, through the mesmerized crowds, to the edge of the room, left unoccupied.

Loki falls into a chair and draws you into his lap, facing forward.

”Thought you could escape me...” he whispers. 

You grind into him. “I wanted to hear you beg for it,” you murmur.

“Oh, I’m a bad influence.” His lips are on your neck as he pulls the fabric of your dress up enough so he can run his fingertips over your bare ass. “Would you have me kneel before you?”

You push back into him again. “Only if you’ve been bad. And you have.”

His chuckle vibrates against your neck. He rubs circles into your hips. “Have I?”

You stop. “You meant to put my life on the line just to further your chance of escape.”

He reaches up to pull your face back to look at him. You twist unnaturally to do so, straining your neck.

“Our escape,” he says firmly.

“You’re missing the point...”

“And you’re distracting me.” He pulls you back until you feel his cock push into your buttocks, concealed beneath the gatherings of your skirt.

“Stella could see us,” you remind him. “She’s got a pretty good view from up there.”

“Let her watch then,” Loki groans. “Let them all watch me fuck you.”

You slowly lower yourself onto him, just enough so your lips can kiss the tip of his cock. Teasing him. Your wetness coats the head. “Like the first time you took me.”

Loki kisses your shoulder. “Take me back to that night, my sweet girl.”

“You like doing this in front of an audience, don’t you?” you prompt.

You slide down further til he is just barely inside of you.

He moans a curse.

“I just love fucking you,” he clarifies and pulls you down roughly to take in all of his cock in one swift motion. You gasp as he fills you. You hate to admit you felt empty up until this point. But you had wanted to keep the temptation alive, nourishing it with every small touch. You wanted to see him at his most desperate. But with him inside you, you don’t care about the chase. You want the reward.

You grind into him, encouraging him further.

“What do you need?”

“Don’t make me say it,” he hums into your back, his arms snaking around you. You interweave your fingers with his.

“I think you have to.” You slip away and threaten to step off his lap. His hands hold you steady in place.

“I need you,” he admits. “Gods, I need you.”

You turn back to kiss him softly. _Do you really mean that, my liar God?_

“Don’t leave me again,” he adds with a sigh against your lips.

You pull back and lose yourself in his emerald abyss. There is always the possibility that he is just luring you in. But equal to that is the promise of a real beginning. A chance to start again.

One response to an anonymous tip. One chance to move up in the ranks. One chance to prove yourself. It all led you into the arms of the God of Mischief.

If you ever made it back home, you would definitely need to find new employment.

“Ah, we’ve been seen.”

Turning back forward, you follow the direction of his gaze, up and into the silk ropes, where both Cyrus and Stella have their sights set upon you. It reignites the flame of passion within Loki as he thrusts harder into you, unrelenting. You dig your nails into his thigh.

“Loki, maybe we should stop.” The performance is nearing an end.

“Why?” _Thrust._

“They see us.”

“And?”

You bite your lip to stifle a moan as his hand comes under your skirt to find the center of your pleasure. Your knees buckle as you near release.

“I want to hear you say it,” he groans. “Let’s be honest with each other. For once.”

He pulses into you as he kisses your neck and adds, “I’m sorry for what I did to you.”

You lose yourself then, cumming hard. You can’t control it. You are moaning his name and clutching his arm. And you are crying.

You stay like that for a moment. His arms around you holding you so tight you fear he might crush your ribs.

_Be honest._

You take a deep breath and decide to step into the unknown.

“Fine, lets be honest,” you begin between gasps for air. “I came that night to take you into Shield. Not to visit some has-been doctor.”

His hand is at the back of your neck when he says, “And I would have killed you that night.”

You wait for his grip on your throat to tighten until you’ve gasped your last breath, clawing at his hands. You open your mouth to speak when something shimmers off the moonlight above. Stella is holding something that shouldn’t be a part of the act. Cyrus is giving her momentum as they sway on the silks, horizontal to you and Loki.

She’s taking aim.

Adrenaline surges though you. You remember your training. Survival. But you act on pure impulse. You shift around to fully face Loki, wrapping your entire body around him.

“I swear you don’t deserve my love,” you say into his neck as the last of your tears trace pale lines down your powdered cheeks. He says your name in a soft whisper before you feel the impact and the warm sensation that follows, spreading over your back like dark wings.

Loki goes wide-eyed. A cosmos of emotions leaning toward pure annihilation explodes in those eyes. You lean back and see a stain on his shirt. Your hands search desperately for a wound but he is unharmed. Not soon enough do you realize the source of the stain. A heat spreads through your back and over your chest, leaving your arms cold and your fingers numb. You gingerly press your fingers to the warmth.

Fingertips at eye level, you see the sticky crimson liquid glossed over your skin.

_I’m sorry for what I did to you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part 1
> 
> ”Trusting a God” will return next week... stay tuned!


	14. II. A Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How it began (or how our heroine found herself in the arms of the God of Mischief)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back friends :) so perhaps I lied, but I couldn’t resist posting this little flashback for you to wet your palettes! Part 2 will begin Monday 1/29

_Two men. Spotted in New York. Appearing out of no where._

That was your intel straight from S.H.I.E.L.D. The filtered version for your security clearance.

But a quick search on your Instagram feed showed Thor mingling amongst the local teen fanfare. His brother lurked in the background with a disapproving scowl.

 _Loki._ He was back in New York, after everything. After the toll he took on your city. Believing he was beyond repentance.

You hated that smug bastard.

Being a part of the R&D branch meant your closest thing to field work were trips to the Starbucks downstairs to fill coffee orders. While you never met the Avengers, you knew their coffee orders. Tony liked his coffee black. Steve needed cream and two sugars. And Bruce was more of a fan of tea. Green, ironically. You’d been working there for three years and had barely moved just beyond the rank of ignorable intern. The familiar blue glow of your laptop was your lifeline between research and the fulfillment of a mission. But there was an itch at your fingertips to do more than just sit and scroll through reports of UFO sightings. Or puzzle through ancient texts about Norse Gods. You needed to get the full, raw experience of what it meant to try to make a change.

And this was it. You knew where they were and more importantly, you knew who to ask for assistance.

You left the office under the guise of another coffee run. Your colleagues barely batted an eye at you as you charged out of the building, in your sharpest suit and concealed pistol. You had to look the part. You needed the confidence.

_177a Bleecker St._

The report said Dr. Stephen Strange had been seen there recently. There was hope that he could track someone like Loki who equally played in the realm of magic. Or at least point you in the direction of someone who could. You hoped so anyway. He seemed to be reasonable enough from the reports you’d read.

But you hesitated at the door. This is why you weren’t a field agent, you remembered. You lacked the conviction. And the aim.

Before you could gather the motor skills to knock, the door opened for you, by an unseen greeter. You cautiously stepped inside.

“Hello?” You were surprised to find a plush apartment inside, with an elaborate staircase serving as the center piece.

“I am looking for Dr. Stephen Strange,” you called out. But it felt like you were merely talking to the mahogany wood.

You sighed and thought for a moment that the whole idea of coming there was ridiculous. Time to return to your books and mission reports and call it a night over Chinese takeout.

You turned to leave when he appeared before you.

“You’re late,” he remarked, handing you a cup of tea.

“Excuse me?”

The reports never mentioned his unique choice of attire. _Was that a cape? The tea smells nice though..._

“I’m more of a coffee person,” you muttered but sipped the beverage nonetheless. _Camomile._ “Thank you.”

“The Asgardian will not be going in with you to S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Stephen said bluntly. “In fact, I’d prefer it if all Asgardians promptly left Earth.”

You reached for the security blanket of your gun but realized it was no longer at your waist.

“No guns,” he said.

“Dr. Strange, that really isn’t something you can decide...”

You turned at the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. You’d only seen his picture in mission reports or on television. But he really was a sight to behold in person. It was odd seeing him in casual attire. He looked like a maintenance guy, but the kind you wouldn’t mind knocking at your door.

The doctor followed your eye.

“Thor,” you greeted. He was holding an... umbrella?  
  
“Hello,” he said with a faint smile. “Another sorceress?”

The doctor frowned. “No, a distraction.”

“I’m actually looking for your brother...” you started to say.

“So am I,” Thor replied turning to the doctor. “Where exactly did you...”

“Oh right.” Stephen moved his hands in an ornate fashion until a bright ring of light appeared beside you. From the midst of golden sparks, a figure fell, screaming to the ground.

“I have been falling... for thirty minutes!” He shouted in annoyance.

“Who are you?” He asked as he stood, his eyes shifted from the doctor momentarily. He smirked once his gaze held onto you. “Hello.”

That smile pulled you in closer, in a way that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

He turned back to the doctor and his rage boiled over. His daggers were out and ready.

“You think you’re somehow a sorcerer? Don’t think for one minute, you second rate...”

You tased him. He fell to the ground shaking as the electricity coursed through his veins.

“You took my gun but not my taser?” You shout, staring dumbfounded at your weapon of choice.

“Ok, the two of you need to leave,” the doctor said in Thor’s direction.

Loki was slowly beginning to come to. “You will regret that, mortal ...”

A new stream of light suddenly came over the three of you. You turned to the doctor, believing it was another source of his magic but he had stepped away, cautiously.

“No, Heimdall. Not yet!” Thor screamed up into the light.”We need to find father!”

But before you could back away with Dr.Strange, you were plummeting through space without control, a bridge of light pulling you upward. All of the universe was speeding past your vision. The earth was below your feet dangling helplessly in the forced momentum.

Loki was beside you, seeming completely recovered from your minor attack. His hand held onto your forearm, connecting you physically to the would-be God and pulling you with him through the dazzling, blinding cosmos. Stephen had known you were coming. Somehow. Had he set this into motion? This course of fate in which you were held to the Asgardian Prince by a death grip.

“You think you can best a God, you mewling quim?” Loki barked. You struggled and attempted to fling your body away from him. He held fast to you.

Your hands gripped at the fabric of his shirt, no longer the dark suit you’d seen him in only moments before. The mirage had faded. Your hand grazed over bits of metal armor as your fist flew toward him.

“Let go of me!”

He smirked again. “Gladly.”

His grip released and you plummeted out of the stream of light and into the unknown darkness, holding your breath. You knew death was imminent in the empty void.

You reached out your hand, to find anything to stop your descent. Your fingers found metal and you pulled, taking the arrogant God with you out of the light.

Thor turned, screaming for his brother but he was helpless to stop it. You were already so far gone that the stream of light had become nothing but the strength of a glimmering distant star.

When you finally collided into something solid, your throbbing headache confirmed that you were somehow still alive. By sheer dumb luck or... You pushed up onto your hands and realized what had broken your fall.

“You midgardians are so fragile,” he grunted as he pushed you off of him. You landed, rolling, to the ground in a puff of lifted sand. It sent you into a coughing fit.

Loki stood, brushed the dirt from his pants and stared at you. “Your body would have been scattered into a million pieces if I hadn’t been there.”

You looked around, thinking for a moment you were still on earth, on one of those floating trash reciprocals out at sea that conservationists always hammers on about. But the air felt different, slightly lighter as if the gravitational pull was weakened.

Loki seemed to notice is as well. “Brilliant,” he muttered and shifted his gaze upon you.

He leaned over you, his fingers traced the curve of your jaw. You saw then why they called him the God of Mischief. The need to stir chaos played in the glint of his eye, over the thin line of his lips, in the way he touched you.

“We are stuck here together. God and mortal,” he said in a sort of hum. “And I’ve just saved your life.”

He smirked and you had to swallow hard to push your beating heart back into place.

“You are in my debt now, aren’t you?”


	15. II. Loki’s POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PART 2
> 
> Loki’s POV: Starts from end of Chapter 13

Being inside you made him feel whole again. Feeling you pulse around him, milking him. It was like you had never wanted to leave. That you had been kidding yourself if you ever thought you could live without feeling him fill you completely. His cock belonged buried deep inside you. There was no other way around it.

_You stupid girl. You thought you could best me, didn’t you? You can’t deny your carnal needs._

“Let’s be honest with each other,” he offers, wanting to hear your sweet erotic confessions. He loves when you let go, embracing the pure chaos of your sexual desire.

“You don’t deserve my love.”

You jerk into him and he feels the spray of what is undeniably blood on the hands at your back. He has killed too many to not know sensation of death under his grasp. But rarely did he feel a fatal blow delivered by another so intimately.

You collapse all of your weight into him, unconscious. And fear grips him like a poison, taking control over all sense of reason.

He shifts you onto the chair and pulls the dagger from your back. It is his own. The gold hilt now stained with crimson splatter. His hand is pushed into your back to stop the bleeding. He knew how to heal, but only enough to slow the course of the blood leaving your body. You’d need stronger magic to patch you up completely.

His whole body vibrates with a renewed sense of rage. How could he have let you burrow yourself so deeply under his skin? He could feel your claws digging into his chest as if you lived there, inside of him. You are screaming inside his head.

_Weak, pathetic._

“Don’t you fucking die,” he screams as he watches the color drain from your face. “Don’t you fucking dare!” He is coming unhinged.

The crowd has now aimed all of their attention to Loki and the bleeding woman at his side. They are gasping and pushing into each other to move out of the way. A pair of servants quickly flank each side of Loki. They wrap makeshift bandages over the wound but you’ve converted to a crimson leaking fountain. You need to be moved.

“If you let her die, I’ll kill all of you myself,” Loki growls. His hands are shaking.

He stands and searches the sky for the assailants. They’ve fled the scene. And he knows exactly where they’re headed. He looks back at you momentarily but his need for revenge takes over all impulse and he sprints off out of the atrium. Toward the armory.

He barrels down the stairs until he sees the line up of ships, tempting him for escape. _I could find a way to hack them_ , he thought. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so hard, as you’d hopelessly suggested.

Thinking of you pulls forward visions of your face as he held you to him. The two of you connected to your core.

 _You don’t deserve my love_. You’d say it, over and over again. Ringing in his ears. Bouncing off his skull in echoes.

_Get out of my head!_

Your blood is on his hands.

He pushes forward until he sees a leisure vessel at the far end of the lineup. It is alit with power, twinkling into life. He moves around to the other side of it, using an illusion to go unnoticed. Not until he sees Cyrus, fumbling to load up the back, does he let the glamor fall.

He pushes the flat side of his dagger into his throat.

“If you so much as speak, I will slit your throat,” he warns.

Cyrus slowly bends, dropping the bag in his hands gently to his feet. He backs up into the metal haul of the ship.

“I am going to make you an offer,” Loki starts. “Give me the access codes to the ship, and you’ll live.”

Cyrus opens his mouth to reply but Loki pushes the dagger in deeper.

“Nod if you agree,” Loki snaps.

Cyrus does not move.

“My... sister,” he mutters. The dagger cuts a thin line into his flesh. The fresh droplets of blood trickle down to pool at the nape of his neck.

“She isn’t part of this deal,” Loki says through clenched teeth. “What’s your choice?”

Cyrus kicks the bag to Loki. “The codes are in there.”

Loki hesitates before tucking the bag behind him. He smirks at Cyrus.

“My promise was to let you live.”

He slices Cyrus neck swiftly, the spray of blood landing on his lips. He licks it off with a smile. Cyrus reaches up for his neck, breathing in gurgled attempts to stay alive.

“I just didn’t say for how long.”

_You will never touch her again._

The ship rumbles to life.

Loki drops Cyrus’s lifeless corpse and runs in through the open hatch. Stella is at the helm, fumbling with the ship’s controls in an attempt to move it and leave her crimes behind her.

“Oh my darling fiancé,” Loki says, manically. He spins her around, caressing up her arms and over her neck. “That wasn’t very nice what you did back there.”

She is shaking, her hands barely touching the console behind her. “Loki...”

“Hush, Love.” He pushes her into the metal gears. “Just a little bout of jealousy, right?”

She nods as he brings his lips just barely above hers. She feels the tip of his blade push into the soft flesh of her stomach.

“How badly you begged me to fuck you.” He trails the blade down until it reaches the apex of her thighs. “Would you beg for it now?”

“I’m sorry,” she cries. Tears stream down her cheek as all confidence leaves her. She is afraid. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“I wasn’t aiming for her.”

The blade swipes back up to her throat.

“Say that again.”

“It was an accident... I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t mean...”

“Didn’t. Mean. What?” He screams. He fashions her a thin red collar using the blade.

“She got in the way!” Stella glares at him, with one last reserve of defiance. “I wanted you dead!” She screams. “You never loved me...You were using me.”

He hesitates. The dagger wasn’t meant for her. She blocked it from meeting its intended victim. _You stupid, stupid girl. Why did you do it?_

But before Loki can allow her to join her brother, a voice calls from the entrance of the ship.

“That’s enough.”

Loki holds the dagger steady to her throat.

“I said that’s enough, Loki!”

The Grandmaster’s hand comes down onto his shoulder. He shakes his head. “Stella my dear, you know I can’t let you leave after something like that.”

“But I... she wasn’t...”

“Guards.”

With a snap of his fingers, the Grandmaster’s hounds pull Stella from Loki’s clutches and drag her out of the ship. Her blood-curdling scream echoes off the armory walls as she sees the remainder of her brother, lying in a heap on the ground. Almost unrecognizable.

“She’ll be locked in our dungeons, starved until there isn’t much left of her,” The Grandmaster informs Loki as he inspects his fingernails. He flicks a bit of dirt out in disgust.

The fury is still raging through Loki’s veins, a burning fire that can’t be extinguish until he sees her take in her last gulping gasp for air. His hands pulse as he imagines it. She deserved more than a coward’s death for what she did. It needed to be at his hands.

“I’ll forgive you for killing Cyrus,” the Grandmaster continues. “He was a known rapist. I should have killed himself.”

“My... companion. Where is she?” Steam pours out his mouth as he speaks.

“She’s with my best healer,” the Grandmaster replies calmly. “But you can’t see her just yet.”

A guard clicks handcuffs over Loki’s wrists. The soiled dagger falls out of his loosened grip.

“Just because I said I’d forgive you doesn’t mean you aren’t going to be punished for your crime.”

His eyes dance over Cyrus’s luggage as they drag him from the ship. It is open, slightly disheveled. He smirks and tucks a slip of paper under his sleeve, obediently following their lead to his new dwellings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May or may not have posted this after drinking a bottle of champagne with my fiancé. Cause we classy like that


	16. II. Healer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to this week’s episode of “Writing While Hungover”
> 
> I’m sorry. Haha :P Champagne is clearly not my friend.

You never minded the cold. Your colleagues always muttered about the loneliness that came with winter. But you found comfort in the frozen landscape outside your window. You'd spend hours over a cup of coffee watching the pillows of snow collect outside your window.

You needed the winter to appreciate the beautiful spring that followed.

You thought of Loki’s touch, the cool burn it left on your skin when he caressed you. He was ice, but there was a fire that burned just below his flesh. A fire that would consume you if you got too close.

You could have easily embraced that cold darkness. Thinking of him, as if his arms reached around you and pulled you into that void of death. You could be happy there if he just held you like that. But this cold was different. He wasn’t there.

A light pushes in through the thin film of your eyelids and you muster the energy to open your eyes. You glare into the sunlight as they adjust to the bright room around you. You are in bed, stiff and broken. But the plush comforter wraps around you like swaddling cloth and holds you steady. You try to shift into a seated position but the pain between your shoulder blades reminds you how you got there.

 _The dagger_.

 _Loki_.

“Where...”

“Relax, you’re alright.” A hand rests on your shoulder. Gloved.

You turn to look at them but your eyes are still struggling to focus as your pupils shrink. _Was that you, Loki?_

You reach out your hand toward the silhouette. You blink impatiently and the figure beside you takes form. It is a man with pale hair and glasses rested against the bridge of his nose. Not your God of Mischief. Not even close.

“Where am I?” You ask, your disappointment clear from your flaccid tone.

“You are in the healing suite,” the man says. “I have been tasked with your care. You were stabbed.”

You stubbornly sit up.

“I remember.” You rub your eyes. “How long has it been?”

“Three weeks.”

 _Three... weeks?_ You try to shift off of the bed but vertigo prohibits you from moving further.

The man pulls you back up. You groan a complaint but he doesn’t seem to listen as he busies himself with a tray of medical supplies at your bedside. He pulls off the bandages wrapped precariously around your chest and back. You eye the soiled cloths as he tucks them away in a bin. The blood has turned a muddled yellow against the gauze. He smooths an ointment over your wound that makes you sigh, the pain receding almost instantly. He patching you back up with a fresh set of gauze.

“Good as new,” he comments.

“Has anyone... come to visit me?” You ask as he cradles you back onto the pillows.

“No, only the Grandmaster has been in to see you.”

_Where are you?_

“My name is Galen by the way,” he says with a smile.

You say your name but look past him at the doorway. “Can I...”

“You shouldn’t move from your bed,” he replies. “Not for a few more weeks.”

You lie back and fixate your eyes on the ceiling. _No visitors._ You curse and try to chase away every fleeting memory of him. But it’s useless. You recall the last time you saw him. The feeling of his arms reaching around you, the smell of him that encased your very being.

You grimace, remembering what you’d said to him in those final moments, believing it would be your last confession. You didn’t think you’d be alive to witness the repercussions.

But you had meant it, hadn't you?

Galen offers you water and you suddenly realize how dry your mouth feels. Like you haven’t been satisfied for days. You drink greedily until it spills down your chin.

He laughs and hands you a cloth to clean yourself.

“Would you like a book to read, now that you are awake?” He asks. He doesn’t wait for a reply before he hands you his offering.

You stare, dumbfounded, at the worn cover. Your fingers delicately trace the edges as if you’ve been reunited with an old friend.

“Wuthering Heights?” You fumble to ask. “How do you have this? On Sakaar of all places...”

He smiles and replies, “You aren’t the only thing from Earth that’s found itself here.”

He readjusts his glasses and begins to walk out of the room.

“Galen,” You call after him. “Thank you...”

He turns from the door and smiles again softly. “Focus on resting. The sooner you do that, the sooner I can get you out of here.”

The way he says it makes you believe he isn’t referring to this strange version of a hospital room. But Sakaar. He leaves before you can think of something to say.

You nestle back into the pillows and thumb through the book. It’s been loved, that’s for certain. The pages were frayed at the edges. The tops folded over to mark his place. There were notes along the inseam. Where he had made an interpretation. Where he had highlighted a particular line he was fond of.

At the front of the book was a library stamp.

_New York Public Library - April 26, 2012_

You drop the book and turn to face the window. It had to be around noon. The streets below were bustling with lunchtime activity. Merchants and dealers trying to make a sale. Was he amongst those crowds? Was he even on this planet anymore?

You struggle to keep your eyes open for long. The next few days become a blur as you drift in and out of sleep. You remember Galen coming in often to check on you, to feed you and change your gauze. The stains on the cloth were slowly becoming less and less with each visit. He bathed you as well, an experience you wanted to forget. It made you feel like a helpless child, hunched over the shallow waters.

His hands had felt soft on your skin. Tender. Running circles over your skin.

Why couldn’t you forget that feeling?

You manage to stay awake for longer periods of time. Long enough to have conversations with him. He was your doctor of sorts, and as such, your closest confident on Sakaar without Loki around. You spent the evenings discussing the book, something that had initially drawn you to him. You discussed New York, but never asked where he lives.

And you told him about Loki.

“So, this Loki guy, was he your boyfriend?” Galen asks one evening. He sits beside you at the edge of the bed. You share a bowl of fruit. You couldn’t sleep.

You almost choke on a pit as you stifle laughter.

“Not exactly,” you reply. “We were more... reluctant partners.”

You recall his name, coming out in erotic moans as he fucked you. Your cheeks turn as red as the cherry dangling from your fingertips. _Yes, partners._

“And where is he now?” He asks, taking the fruit between your fingers before you can take a bite. “Shouldn’t he be here if you were... partners?”

You fixate your gaze on the stem between his teeth. On the soft lips around them. You swallow, hard.

“He isn’t much for sentiment,” you mutter.

“Well, it’s his loss then.”

Galen stands and pulls the drapes open. The suns had fallen but the streets are alive with merriment below.

“I think you might be strong enough to handle a little fresh air,” he says. “What do you think?”

You smile brightly at him. The walls had begun to close in on you, like the bars of a jail cell. You felt stiff, your muscles needed a thorough stretch. And your heart ached for the cool evening breeze to run through your hair.

You extend your arms out to let Galen help you up and off the bed.

“Don’t be discouraged if this is difficult,” he advises. His arm loops around your back for support. You feebly touch your feet to the floor and begin to put your weight there. You fumble forward but Galen quickly offers you the counter balance of his body. You lean into him as you start to move forward. Legs like jelly, you walk slowly, gripping his arm.

He leads you to the door and gradually you remember how to move each joint in a rhythm that makes sense.

“Look at you!” Galen exclaims, triumphantly. “You’re doing great.”

You beam up at him but hesitate before moving any further.

“I don’t think I’m dressed for being seen,” you say, looking down at your robes.

“I had some of your things brought in,” Galen says. “I can help you change into something, if you’d like.”

You nod, too eagerly. You lean against the wall as he pulls out a dress from the closet. You go wide-eyed upon seeing it.

“I thought this one in particular was lovely,” he says. “What do you think?”

The green silk. The gold embellishing. You couldn’t. You shouldn’t.

“Here, allow me.”

Galen’s hands smooth over the fabric of your robe, slipping it off. You were naked in front of him, save for the square bandage that remained over your wound. But he was your doctor, so to speak. It didn’t feel unnatural. He’d seen you naked before. His hand brushes around the bandage, over your bare back, trailing down your spine.

“Lift your arms up,” he instructs.

You comply and close your eyes as he pulls the soft garment over your head. It slicks over your body like a second skin, falling into place over every curve of your body. He helps to settle it into place properly, smoothing the fabric over your hips. His hands linger there.

He stands back enough to get a good look at you.

“You look beautiful,” he hums in approval.

And you feel it, in the way he looks at you. Not like a piece of meat to be devoured and consumed, as Loki looked at you. But as a woman.

He curves his arm back around you and walks you out of the room and into Sakaar. You remember walking this same path on the night to the garden. The streets are lit with the same small lanterns. If you could go back to that small oasis now, would your memories be fond ones?

“I think I need something more substantial than fruit,” Galen says. “Are you hungry?”

You nod and he leads you into the thick of the city where small stands loop around an open square. The citizens of Sakaar gather under the moonlight there, dancing and drinking and eating to their drunken hearts content.

“Two please,” he says to a stall owner, flipping two silver coins into his basket. The owner hands over too heaping plates of what appears to be noodles. You hope they are noodles.

Galen leads you both to an empty bench. He helps you settle down and then eats first, proving it is worthy enough for a second bite. You muster the bravery to lift the foreign food to your mouth, the first solid food you’ve had in a month. It tastes reminiscent of eggplant and Indian spices. It was unusual, but not enough to make you hesitate further. You scarf down a few more bites before realizing Galen is staring at you with an amused expression.

“You have a bit of...” He reaches forward and wipes the bit of food from your lips. He licks it off his fingertips and laughs. “Do I have to reteach you table manners too?”

You kick him under the table, laughing.

“So, I take you out to a fancy restaurant, to which you are dressed for the occasion,” he starts. “Can I consider this a date?”

You practically choke on your mouthful of “noodles.”

You swallow hard. “Isn’t that a bit forward? And against some sort of doctor, patient code of conduct?”

“You’re right,” he says, leaning onto folding hands, propped up on his elbows against the table. “But you and I only have each other here. And I won’t be your healer for much longer.”

_How did you get here, Galen? Could you really be from Earth?_

“Do you trust me?”

You study him, not sure of how to respond. Your eyes trace the metal curves of his glasses, like window panes over his kind eyes. They were kind, weren’t they? He had nursed you back to life. It was because of his constant care, day in and day out, that you were even sitting there across from him.

Someone else hadn’t even bothered to ask if you were still breathing. If he cared at all...

“I will get you back to Earth,” he says to break the silence. His hand reaches out for you across the table. He brushes his fingers over your knuckles. “I promise you that.”

You’d been promised so many things in your short life. Which ones could you believe?


	17. II. Loki’s POV

He stopped counting after thirty days. The shallow etchings on the stone wall felt empty, useless. He would be punished for his crime, but for how long? At first, he was comforted by the screams down the hall, of whining and broken tears that echoed from Stella’s cell.

“Please,” she’d say every morning when the guards came to feed him, but leave her empty. “Please let me go.”

It had started that way, until time passed and her rescue was nowhere in sight. When even Loki had stopped wondering when his sentence would end. Soon her cries turned to “Please just let me die.”

 _Gladly_ , he thought. _If only I could tear your pretty little throat open, I would gladly give you what you need._

And finally, there was silence. Not even a whimper of her nightly bouts of mourning for her brother. Just the sounds of the dungeon, water dripping from above, empty except for its two newest residents. All other prisoners were sent to the arena. For a competition he hadn’t even gotten the pleasure of seeing.

Had Stella succumb to death so quickly? Or had her soul reverted so deep inside of her that there was nothing left but a hollow husk?  
  
The dusty cell provided little in terms of entertainment and a mind wrought with unsettled rage led him into his own state of delusion. Not a single visitor, save for the guards who brought him cheap excuses for food every morning. They’d slide it in under his cell door, and most days it would stay there, untouched, collecting fuzzy patches of mold as the days passed.

During the first week, he had asked the guards about you. “Is she alive?”, “Where are they keeping her?”, “Is she safe?” _Does she think of me still?_ He only ever received side-ways glances as they tossed him his plate and left up the stairs to return to Sakaar. He stopped asking after the third week when the voices in his head convinced him you were dead.

“I died for you.”

Loki settles into the corner of the cell. “Be gone, ghost.”

You appear before him the way you looked that night. In the gown he’d given you.

You squat down next to him. “I took a dagger to the heart for you,” you say again. “And what did you do for me?”

Loki turns away but the vision persists.

“You hated me. You raped me.”

“Shut up.” Fingers claw through fistfuls of his greased hair, threatening to pull out loosened strands.

“You killed me,” you whisper into his ear.

“Shut up!”

You crawl into his lap, straddling him against the wall, barricading him in. Fingers trailing up his chest.

“You took everything from me,” you taunt. “But I gave you everything in return.” You kiss his jawline in soft trails.

Loki’s hands are in fists at his side. _Don’t touch me. You aren’t real. You’re dead._

“How could I have loved someone like you?” You say as your lips hover over his. “You’re a monster.”

He grabs a fistful of your hair and stands, dragging you with him. He pins you to the cell wall.

“Yes, I am,” he growls into your open mouth.

He tears the dress open at your chest, where the fabric dipped down enough to expose your cleavage. Stray threads cascade to the floor, settling in with the dirt and grime. Your breasts bounce in full view and he forcefully takes one in his hand, kneading hungrily into your tender flesh until you squirm. You thrash your body against the cell wall, and yet, your legs still fall open eagerly for him as he reaches down to feel your sex. You cry out for him as he plunges a finger inside.

“I am the monster your mother warned you about.” He bites down on your neck, hard. “I am the wolf in sheeps clothing.” He’s drawn blood.

“Loki, stop! You’re hurting me!”

“That’s what my love is, pet. Can’t you see that now?” he moans into you. “It is pain. It is fear.”

“I don’t want this...”

He pulls his fingers from you, a string of your forced arousal connecting you to him. “No, you don’t.”

You’re crying. “Loki... please.” You reach out to cradle his face in your hands. “I love you,” you say in a gentle whisper. But it repeats. Over and over again. Reverberating in his skull. Until it morphs from “love” To “hate” and your gentle confession turns into a scream.

He fumbles back as he loosens you from his grasp. You’re laughing, manically at his feet. The waves of it crash over him, drowning him in your mockery.

“I don’t want your love,” he says between clenched teeth.

“Then you’ll have my hatred,” you say smirking up at him.

You crawl toward him, your ass pushed up, bare and in desperate need of a spank, he thinks. He yanks you forward by a chain held to you around a thick leather collar. The same one you wore the night of the orgy. You settle in between his legs and look up at him with a sadness he can’t erase.

It takes him back to when you first catapulted onto this planet, the universe’s reciprocal for the lost and found. How he had stood over you with your eyes held to him. There was fear in those eyes but he saw the glimmer of something else. Of approval. Of a burning need you tried to stifle.

And now as the vision of you knelt below him, he couldn’t help thinking again of how much he wanted you like this. How he dreamed of you in full submission before him, ordained in nothing but that collar. To come to him on hands and knees, begging for chains and whips. Begging for a pain that turned to pleasure. A pleasure that made you need him, rely on him.

To never leave him.

But he’d never know if you would have come to know that kind of life with him. For visions of a dead girl never left him, twisting his memory of you into a darkened image of hate and regret.

“Use me,” you murmur with eyes pooling with tears. “Abuse me. Rape me.”

He yanks on the chain and you moan. He hooks his fingers into your mouth until you happily suck on them, hands held to the floor.

He pulls them back out, leaving your mouth open and wanting.

“Take me,” you say, saliva dripping off your tongue.

“No,” he replies in a harsh whisper.

“Why?”

“Because you aren’t real.” The illusion fades and his hands hover in midair, in the space where he held you.

He collapses to the floor, his head in his hands. And he screams. Screams into the empty void of the cell, until his ears feel as if they could bleed. Til his throat is dry and hoarse. Til your voice leaves him completely.

“You don’t tire of that?”

He swears you’ve returned to him and shouts into the cell “I said to leave me!”

“She isn’t here.”

 _Stella_.

“She may not even be on Sakaar.”

“I thought you were dead,” he mutters.

“I wish I was.”

“I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

There is a silence that follows and he doesn’t wish to break it. Not needing or wanting any form of conversation she had to offer.

“Why do you care for her so much?” She finally asks.

“I don’t.”

“There isn’t use for lies down here. Who am I going to tell?”

“Would you just shut up?” He grunts in frustration. “I was quite happy thinking you were dead over there.” Hearing her voice vibrate off the walls was maddening.

“It’s clear you have feelings for her. I saw how you reacted when I stabbed her.”

“If you don’t shut up I will find a way out of this pathetic cell and strangle you.”

She laughs then. “I’d like to see you try.”

Silence again before, “I wonder why she hasn’t come to see you. Surely the Grandmaster has told her where you are.”

“Because she’s dead.”

“Do you really believe that?”

He remembers feeling the blood course over his hands. Your pale face devoid of life. He swore his palms were still stained red as he lifted them to the hazy light of his cell.

“I don’t,” Stella says. “I have horrible aim.”

Loki’s hands fall into his lap. “I don’t need your empathy.”

“But you need me,” she says. “If you ever hope to see her again.”


	18. II. Reunion

You read the book twice in high school. A golden edged copy sat prized on your book shelf, as if some sort of trophy. But you had your own copy that you inflicted with all your midnight rage. It would slam into the back of a closed door after a breakup, fall into the bubble bath when you started to drift to sleep, and gain markings on the kitchen counter from your failed dinner recipes.

But this copy, the one that found itself in a heap on Sakaar, felt like home. Like a small reminder that Earth may not be as far out of reach as it seemed.

You moved from the recovery room into the open air reservoir outside of the main building: a circle of tables nestled in a hollow scoop of landscape. Galen had given you permission to leave for afternoon readings in the yard. But only that.

You propped a pillow behind your back and sipped on a cool glass of water. The ice cubes settle in the glass with a clink. You wipe droplets of sweat from your forehead. The suns are brutal today but you wouldn't dream of trading this for your crowded hospital bed. That room makes you feel as if the blade is still lodged between your shoulders.

You open the book to start again, almost to the end. A paper airplane flutters down onto the open page, blocking the highlighted words beneath it. Looking up, you catch a glimpse of a small child glancing at you before scurrying off into the safety of the building beyond. You catch sight of their collar as they run.

You hold the paper airplane between your fingertips and slowly unfold it. The parchment is covered in a long string of typed numbers. For a moment, you can’t understand why a servant child would give this to you. You flip it over in your hands and go wide-eyed.

On the back is scribbled in bleeding, faded ink: “Go home, kitten.”

You fold the paper back up and hide it inside your pocket, frantically gathering up your things, pillow tucked under your arm. You see the building just ahead of you and charge forward, eyes downcast.

“Hey, where you going to in such a hurry?” Galen asks as he catches you in his arms, halting your progression back inside. “I came out here to read with you and you run away?”

Your hand passes over the parchment in your pocket. “I was getting a little overheated,” you lie.

His hand brushes your forehead as he asks, “Do you need to lie down?”

You flinch away from his touch, warm and stagnant against your skin, so unlike Loki’s cool caress.

“No, I’m fine. I just need some shade,” you say and push past him. He trails behind you.

“You shouldn’t push yourself too much yet,” he says. “Let me help you back at least.”

“I’m fine!” You shout, too loudly. You feel stares burrow into your back, from Sakaarians taking their afternoon stroll. “Really, Galen, thank you, but I want to be alone.”

He adjust his glasses. “Call for me if you need me.”

You turn without another word and pull all of your energy reserves into sprinting toward the direction of the child. You catch sight of them darting down a flight of stairs and push onward.

“Wait!” You call after them. “Please!”

They turn to look at you and your eyes meet. It is the girl who confronted you, when Loki’s engagement was announced. _Does he beat you?_

“Please, I just want to talk to you,” you say softly. You both stop midway down the stairs. You carefully close the distance, one step at a time. Dropping the pillow and the book onto a step below.

“How did you get this?” You ask, paper held between your fingertips. “Did someone give you this to deliver to me?”

She tries to run but you catch her by the arm. You loosen your grip when you see her expression alit with terror.

“I won’t hurt you,” you assure, releasing her. She stumbles backward but stays.

“I need your help,” you say softly. “Can you tell me who gave this to you?”

“She used to play games with me,” she mumbles meekly. “But If I won, she’d beat me.” She rubs at the yellow bruises on her arm, like fading memories.

“Who? Who hurt you?”

Her eyes are downcast. “But she always gave me sweets.” She holds up a piece of candy, wrapped in bright cellophane.

“Did this woman... did she bribe you?”

“A guard did,” she replies. “Said to go to the holding cells.”

“Can you take me there?”

The girl looks hesitant, fear causes her lip to quiver. You come down to your knees and brush a stray hair away from her face.

“Someone I care about might be down there,” you tell her. “I have to see him.”

Her hands go to your bare neck, gingerly touching her fingertips to your skin. “Where’s your collar?”

“I don’t need one anymore,” you say. Though somehow a part of you missed that small token of the estranged relationship you and Loki had.

The girl takes your hand and continues down the stairs with you trailing behind her. The winding staircase makes your head spin, a bout of returning vertigo. The girl is unaffected, spinning past every curve as she drags you along with her. It seems endless as you go on, the repeating steps like a strange purgatory separating you and Loki.

Would he be there at the end of that winding staircase? Would he give you his token smile and pull you into his arms? Or would he drive you away with a cold stare, never having wanted you there in the first place?

Either way, your heart skips a beat. He hadn’t forgotten about you.

The girl stops as you finally reach the end. You tilt your head back up to stare at the spiral of steps looming above. You pray you will have enough energy to brave venturing back up later.

“In there,” the girl says, pointing in the direction of the darkness beyond the open doorway.

You grip the frame of the door and push onward, a faint light in the distance guiding you in. The girl waits behind, standing watch at the end of the staircase.

You brush your hand over the cobbled walls as you walk forward. Your feet suck into the muddy floor with each step. A row of cells comes into view. Beyond the rusty metal bars, lie the remnants of their former residents, left discarded in the empty blocks. Only their bones remain to hold their memory. The smell hits you then and you reach up to cover your mouth to prevent yourself from vomiting. The stench of years of death and decay.

You move onward and see the faint form of a woman, collapsed into the corner of a cell. Her cheeks are sunken in and her fragile frame looks as if it could break just from standing. As you near her, the pale remains of her hair remind you of someone...

“Stella?”

Her eyes slowly blink open. “So you aren’t dead.”

“Can’t say the same for you,” you remark, slowly nearing the bars of her cell.

“I did what I said I would do,” she mumbles. “Now it’s your turn to fulfill his end of the bargain.”

“Stella, I don’t know what...”

She crawls toward you, reaching her hand feebly through the thin gap between the metal bars.

“Kill me.”

You step away from her hand with a look of horror.

“Please!” She begs again but you can’t bear to look at her. She would die soon enough.

You continue down the hall until you come across another form slumped within a cell block. The dark figure is facing the wall, scribbling numbers into the cobbled surface with his bleeding hands.

“Loki,” you breath as you near him. “Loki, is that you?”

The writing halts. The figure turns slightly but you can’t see his face.

“Torment me no more, ghost. I have grown weary of our games.”

You grip onto the metal bars. “Loki, it’s me,” you say. “Just look at me, please.” You are trembling, your eyes watering against the dim light of the dungeon.

“I said leave me,” he replies, more harshly than before.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Go!” He turns abruptly and stumbles back into the wall upon seeing you.

You reach out your hand through the gap of the bars.

“Touch me,” you beckon. “Just feel my hand and you’ll know I’m real.”

He slowly comes forward out of the shadows where you can finally take in the sight of him. His hair is mangled, his hands crusted with dried blood from torn fingernails, his clothing soiled. He hardly resembles the cool, calculating man who once seduced you to forfeit your virginity. The man who oozed power and confidence.

The man in front of you was a stranger.

He reaches out to touch his fingertips to the palm of your hand. His touch relaxes as he feels your skin. He inches closer and whispers your name. You blink as you smile weakly at him.

“I thought... I thought you were dead,” he whispers.

“I’m here,” you reassure.

He leans against the bars. “You shouldn’t be.”

“You sent me that message, didn’t you?” You ask.

“And you didn’t listen,” he growls. “You never listen.”

He reaches through the bars and pulls you flesh to him, the metal stripes the only thing separating you. He grabs the back of your neck. “Can’t you just do as you’re told?”

You reach up to hold his face, your eyes dancing over each new feature he wore: his sunken-in cheeks, his chapped pale lips, his blood shot eyes.

“Never,” you retort.

His eyes gleam and you see a spark of his former self peaking through the despair of captivity. He relaxes his grip.

“If I had more energy...” He steps back. “You need to leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Your sentiment is lost on me,” he mutters. “Leave, now.”

“Can you be honest with yourself for once in your goddamn life?” You lash out. “What is it you feel for me? Tell me.”

His eyes, threaded with vibrant veins, burrow into you. “I feel nothing.”

The word seems to reverberate over the cobble walls. The dripping water in the distance echoes tears that come after, unwarranted.

“Nothing...” you repeat. “Not even contempt? Not even gratitude?”

His hand smooths over the back of your neck. “I spent every night in this cell for the past two months with nothing but your memory to comfort me,” he says. “I’d begun to memorize the way you laughed, the way your eyes wrinkled when you smiled, the placement of every freckle...” His hand trails down your arm.

“And it was torment,” he adds. “Torture to have your face haunting me. Telling me of every wrong I ever committed. Of every sin I wore on my coat of arms.”

He pulls away from you, his eyes downcast. “I don’t feel for you the way you think I do.”

“And what way is that exactly?” You mutter, your fingernails digging holes into the palm of your hand. All frustration and anger channeled into your trembling digits.

“I despise you,” he replies, retreating back into the dark shadows of his cell. “I despise what you’ve done to me.”

“I’ve done nothing but give you everything!” You scream, rattling the metal bars.

“Don’t you see? That’s exactly the point!” He retorts. “You are a fragile mortal. Who loved me too easily. You are weak, vulnerable. You and I would cause nothing but pain for the other. I’m doing you a favor by ending this.”

You tremble but hold steady to the bars. “You don’t mean that...”

“Don’t I?” He barks. “You were there in New York. You know what I am capable of.”

“Yes, I do,” you reply. “And I know you are capable of more than what the world saw of you that day. You’ve settled into this villain role as if its all you are. But I refuse to believe that, Liar God.”

His chuckle grows louder as he nears you again. “And you know me so well.”

“I want to,” you say. You search for him amidst the moving shadows. “Why are you so set on blocking everyone out? Why don’t you ever let yourself try?”

He re-emerges from the abyss and presses back into you. His eyes lock to yours.

“Don’t you think I have?” His eyes seem redder than before.

“I won’t leave without you.” Your lips are so close between the bars. “I won’t.”

“Then you will die waiting for me.”

You smile and push back the tears that sting your eyes. “I’ve already died for you once, I don’t plan on doing it again.”

You back away from his cell, leaving him clutching to the bars. You turn to leave but he calls after you. His eyes have softened slightly. He looks broken to you then.

“Don’t waste your life on me,” he warns. “You were right. I don’t deserve your love.”

You leave the dungeon, passing a motionless Stella once again, and return to the bottom of the staircase, where the little girl is no where to be found.

“Something you want to share with me?”

 _Galen_.

You open your mouth to speak when something jabs into your neck and you collapse, your vision blurring into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, bittersweet reunions... 
> 
> I’ve decided “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails is the soundtrack to Loki/Reader’s twisted love story.
> 
> Thanks for reading :) 
> 
> \- Lilith


	19. II. Bargaining

When you come to, you are back in your bed. The soft morning light filters in through the open window. _How long was I asleep?_ You shift your gaze and find Galen beside you. He is cleaning his glasses with the fabric of his shirt.

He catches your eye and smiles.

“Ah, you’re awake,” he says softly as he reaches for you. “Do you feel alright? Can I get you water?”

You swat his hand away.

“What...did you do to me?” You feel depleted.

He brushes a stray hair away from your face. You flinch as if his touch burns you.

“What were you doing down there?” He asks, ignoring your question.

You struggle to sit up. “What. Did. You. Give. Me?” You growl.

“A mild sedative,” he replies. “I followed you because I was worried...You shouldn’t have climbed all those steps in your condition. I didn’t want you damaging all the great progress you’ve made.”

“You could have done without drugging me,” you glare. “You had no right.”

“As your caregiver, I did. In a way,” he says and moves closer to you. “But I’m sorry. I won’t do anything to you without your consent moving forward.”

You turn away from him.

“There won’t be a moving forward...”

“You shouldn’t let that man control you the way you do...”

“You knew,” you growl, venom on your lips. “You knew he was there and you didn’t tell me?”

He sighs. “Yes, I knew.”

“Then why keep that from me?” You shout. “You knew how I felt...”

“Did I?” He raises a solitary eyebrow inquisitively. “You said you were just partners.”

You pull back and he adds, “How do you feel about him?”

Saying it felt impossible. As if putting it into words made it seem that much more ridiculous.

“I... I’m concerned for him,” you manage.

Galen smiles slightly. “You have a big heart.”

“Perhaps too big...” you mutter. “I need to get him out of there. He is going to lose his mind down there. If he hasn’t already.”

You shift your legs over the edge of the bed to stand. However, you quickly fumble as a wave of vertigo smacks you back down onto the mattress.

“Take it easy,” Galen says softly. He adjusts your pillow. “It would be treason for you to do that,” he warns. “Going against the Grandmaster’s explicit command would lead to your own imprisonment.”

“Do you think I care what the Grandmaster thinks?” You scream and your face falls into your hands. “I couldn’t bear to see him that way... he looked so... he said...he shouldn’t be there.”

“I’m sorry you had to see him like that,” Galen mutters.

“What did he do to fall out of favor with the Grandmaster so quickly?” you ponder.

“He killed Cyrus.”

You lift your head from your hands. “He... What?”

“After his sister stabbed you, he murdered him,” Galen explains. “Slit his throat from what I heard. Stella and Cyrus were some of the Grandmaster’s most prized guests. They’ve been here for years, entertaining. So he didn’t take too kindly to his death, no matter what had been done prior.”

To Loki, Cyrus’s murder was the closest thing to a confession of love that you’d ever get from him.

“They had to stop him before he killed Stella too.”

Loki said you tortured him in that dungeon. That thoughts of you ran rapid in his head in that damp darkness. If there was any hope of salvaging the man he was, you had to save him from the man he was becoming. The man he was becoming because of your unwilling astral torment.

“Please, Galen,” you reach out for his hands. “You have to help me get him out of there.” Who else could you turn to? You could not allow yourself to trust him again. But you were driven by desperation. By a maddening need to see Loki again. Trust seemed irrelevant. The image of Loki’s face torn in a state of dwindling sanity remains plastered behind your eyes. His words playing over and over in your head.

He sets his glasses back into place, and gives your fingers a squeeze. “I’d like to. Really, nothing would make me happier than to see you smile again...” he says. “But what will I get in return?”

You hesitate, unsure of what to offer. For Loki, you’d do anything. You needed him alive. You needed him safe. You couldn’t breathe until you knew he was out of those cells. You longed to see his bright, mischievous smile again. To feel his arms around you.

For Loki, you’d offer everything you had. You’d offer yourself.

You lunge forward and kiss Galen, holding his face between your hands. He quickly eases into it, pushing his tongue past your parted lips. You let him in, letting him explore your mouth as he deepens the kiss. He pushes you back down into the bed as he comes to hover over you. The weight of his body feels heavy on your heart.

_You would do anything to see him safe, to see him happy._

His lips trail down your neck. It feels good, doesn’t it? To have a man caress you like this. To hold you gently. To want you. To kiss you softly.

But you can’t shake the nausea that is growing at the base of your throat. You push it down, focusing on the pure physicality of lips to your flesh. Of being touched.

You reach up to bury your fingers in his thick mane, pulling him back up to kiss your lips. You feel attracted to him, don’t you? He wasn’t unattractive by any means. He had kind eyes that made you feel safe. His lips were soft and gentle against you.

You feel his hand on your thigh. He has to guide your legs gently open to get better access. His fingers graze over the thin fabric of your panties and you jerk away from him.

“Do you want me to stop?” He murmurs against your lips. He is caressing your shoulder, stroking your hair, giving you every ounce of affection that would make a normal girl weak at the knees. But as he touches you so softly, your mind wanders to Loki’s hand on your neck. How the feeling once triggered only fear within you. But now it had changed, morphed into a sort of hunger. You had begun to crave his control. To be owned.

You gently push Galen away.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, wrapping your robe more tightly around yourself and bringing your knees up to your chest. “I shouldn’t have...”

He smiles at you and softly kisses your cheek.

“I’ll help you,” he says.

You look up at him, blinking. You reach for his hand and softly kiss the tips of his fingers, in gratitude. Unable to speak.

“Meet me at the dungeon at midnight. I think I can get the keys to release him,” Galen says and stands up off the bed.

He reaches for you one last time. “Will you promise me that you won’t push me away?” He asks. “That you will try to see where this takes us?”

Where would it take you, you wonder... but you sigh and shake your head. “I can’t promise you anything, Galen.”

He leaves the room, closing the door behind him. You let go of a breath you’ve held in for too long. You reach up your fingertips to rest against your lips. They still tingle slightly from the physical contact. It feels as if you’ve committed infidelity, but how could you? Loki wasn’t your anything. He was just...

You fall into the bed and close your eyes.

You needed Loki to be safe. And maybe that was all you needed.


	20. II. Rescue

You grab a coat and leave your room in the dead of night. The world around you is still, unnaturally quiet for a night in Sakaar, as you make your way to the winding staircase, armed with a lantern.

The flickering light guides your path down the stairs, free hand held to the railing. Your mind races through the list of possible outcomes. You chase all doubt away and quicken your pace.

Galen is waiting for you at the bottom of the staircase. He dangles a set of keys in his hand.

“How did you...”

“A guard owed me a favor. It helps being a healer in a place like this,” he replies. He ushers for you to lead the way.

As you back to pass by Stella’s cell, you hesitate.

“Unlock it,” you order. Galen looks at you with doubt but obeys, pushing the door from its hinge. 

Her body is slumped in a pile in the corner of the cell. As you near her, the flickering light of your lantern casts shadows over her face, causing a litter of vermin to scurry away from their meal of her flesh. You look away in disgust. You hate that you feel sorry for her, even after everything.

You leave her corpse behind and move onward until you reach Loki’s cell, where he is sitting, gazing out toward you with a blank, empty stare.

Galen goes for the lock and unhinges the door. You carefully walk inside and kneel down in front of the Asgardian prince.

“Loki...” you smooth his hair back. “We have to go.”

He doesn’t respond. He barely blinks.

You pull him up into your arms, stumbling backward as you struggle to support him. Galen comes around to his other side to shift Loki’s weight over his shoulders, to share the burden.

“He is severely malnourished,” Galen says. “We need to get him upstairs quickly.”

The two of you practically drag his body along back to the stairs. His feet barely manage to move to keep step with the both of you at either side. The lantern sways in your hand.

You stop to catch your breath.

“Loki, please.” You hold his face. His eyes are still glazed over. As if he weren’t in there. Just an empty body. “You have to try for me.”

He is unresponsive and Galen pulls him up over his shoulders, his body draped over his back. “Come on,” he beckons and you continue onward.

The stairs seem endless in the darkness. The light of your lantern casts shadows around the walls that curve and twist as you move around each bend. You rub your eyes, convinced you are seeing things in those dark shades. Faces. Monsters. Crawling up to take him away from you. You push onward, the lantern held level with your eye.

“Almost there,” you say looking back, more to Loki than to Galen, who is struggling to continue on with the weight of a grown man on his back.

You reach the top of the stairs and Galen releases his hold on Loki, who falls lifeless to the tile.

You fall down next to him, cradling him in your lap. “Come on, don’t you dare give up on me now!” You slap his cheek. His eyes flutter open. “You stupid, god. You’ve got hundreds of years left in you.”

You pull him forward as Galen leads the way back to your room. You are relieved when you make it there in one piece, helping Loki onto the cushions of your bed. Galen is already fussing with a concoction. He mixes the sludge quickly and you lift Loki’s head to help him drink it. It slides over his lips and he coughs when the taste hits his tongue.

“Vile...” he mutters. He blinks up at the ceiling before turning to look at you, his eyes wide in a state of delirium.

“Pet,” he says, in a sweet tone, far too uncharacteristic.

Galen eyes you from behind the mixing bottles as if to ask you for an explanation. There is none.

“I’m here,” you say, holding his hands. His fingers feel fragile, as if you could break them from holding on too tightly. “Not enough strength in you to fight against me, huh?”

He sighs and settles into your pillow. “Smells nice...” he mutters before reaching out for you again. “Don’t... leave me.”

You kiss his forehead on impulse. You blush and pull away. “You can’t get rid of me that easy,” you say with a faint smile.

Galen is at the doorway. “I suppose I should...”

“No,” you say. “Stay, please.” Pausing, you stare down at Loki, whose eyes keep opening and closing as he struggles to maintain consciousness. “I don’t know what sort of condition he is in,” you add.

Galen nods and settles into a chair nestled in the corner of the room. He watches you carefully, every move you make to comfort Loki, every emotion you can’t conceal.

“The guards will be back to his cell in the morning to check on him,” Galen warns. “If we don’t leave before...”

“An illusion,” Loki mutters. His eyes close and reopen. “I can use... an illusion.”

 _Could you cast a spell that far of a distance?_ You smooth back his hair.

“Just rest,” You say. “We will figure it out in the morning.”

You turn to Galen and mouth “thank you,” before settling in against the edge of the bed. You watch as Loki’s eyes flutter closed and quickly feel the weight of sleep lay heavy on your own eye lids, letting your dreams claim you.

You could admit that to yourself, that it was in fact a dream you envisioned and not a nightmare. That for you the visions that took over your subconscious mind were something you wanted, not something you feared.

“My sweet girl,” Loki hums. “Kneel.”

You eagerly do so, facing away from him. His hand smooths over your bare ass and you moan a response, pushing yourself up onto your hands and knees. His hand caresses over your buttocks and slowly curves between your legs to slide over your wet mound. It sends a shockwave of acute pleasure through you. Your nipples harden.

“Mm, so needy, aren’t we?”

You buck against his hand. “Please, master.”

“Please what?” He pulls his hand away and pushes his fingers into your mouth as he stands behind you, forcing you to taste your arousal. You moan into his hand.

“I want you,” you say, his finger against your tongue.

“I don’t think you quite deserve that yet,” he chuckles. He stands away from you and the loss of contact is unbearable. You fall against your chest, ass pushed up. You fear he is gone when his hand smacks against raw flesh. You jerk forward and moan his name, thankful for his returned touch. He holds his hand there, smoothing over the red imprint, the swollen skin.

“More,” you moan, reaching back to touch your fingertips to his.

He chuckles and hits you again, evening out the marks he has left on your ass. “Oh kitten, you’re dripping,” he murmurs. “How lewd.”

You awake, flustered and heated. You pull yourself up, realizing to your horror that you had fallen asleep on Loki’s chest. He is awake, smirking down at you.

“Sweet dreams?” He asks with a knowing smile.

You straighten up and cross your legs, your core throbbing from unsatisfied desires. You knew he had control over magic, but did that extend to manipulating dreams?

“Where’s Galen?” You ask, peering around the room to confirm his absence.

“Left this morning. Something about injuries in the arena,” Loki replies.

“You look better,” you remark.

And he did. He looked fed and well rested. He has managed to comb his hair at some point while you were sleeping.

“Thank you,” he murmurs and you stare at him, dumbfounded. Loki was never one for gratitude. But you aren’t sure what he is thanking you for: for the compliment, for helping him escape, for saving his life.

He chuckles upon seeing your expression. “I’m not wholly barbaric, you know.” His hand scoops your chin. “Though I suppose we are even now.” He reaches back to feel where the blade had lodged into you, his fingers tracing delicate circles over the bandage. “I'm not fond of this game. Can’t we claim there are no victors and be done with it?”

You laugh softly. “You have to stop getting on people’s bad side, then we won’t have this problem.”

“Oh pet, you know that won’t be easy...”

You pull yourself fully up into the bed beside him. He smiles, reaching out for you. His fingers trace down your cheek as his gaze dances from one eye to the other as if he can’t hold steady. His hand strokes up your outer thigh and you have to control every urge to straddle him. He is in no state for lovemaking.

 _Lovemaking_. You curse yourself for thinking it.

“Did you miss me?” He asks as his thumb lightly caresses your bottom lip. He pushes it past the opening of your mouth, urging you to suck.

You feel overheated, all blood rushing over your cheeks and clouding your judgement. Did he deserve this? Did he deserve you so willing and wanting? Hadn’t you given him enough? But you lean into him and comply, your eyes glazed over with lust. You can't help thinking of something else you wanted in your mouth. Galen’s kiss felt like child’s play compared to the things Loki did to your mind and body.

“Oh I think you did,” he hums in satisfaction.

You pull back from his thumb. “Did you?” you counter. His lips curve immediately into a wide grin, his hand at the back of your head pulls you towards him.

“I am preconditioned to spend far too much time in solitude,” he murmurs. “It can leave one wanting for companionship.”

“Companionship,” you repeat as you hover over him. “Is that what this is?” You stroke his cheek and search his hazy eyes for an answer. “Are we going to open this can of worms again? Do you really want that?”

He grabs a hold of you and flips you around so that you are on the bed and he is above you, pinning you to the mattress. You groan a complaint as you feel something dig into your back, still sensitive from your healing wound. You reach back and retrieve the intruder: _Wuthering Heights_.

“Where did you get that?” Loki asks, eyes held to the book as if it were a dagger, not harmless literature.

“Galen gave it to me. Why?”

He takes it from you and opens it to the front cover.

“This book... was mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmm... shall the smut return? I think it should ;)


	21. II. Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Saturday, my lovelies. Only a few chapters left for part two. 
> 
> Celebrated Valentine’s Day a little early yesterday so this chapter feels well timed :)

“What do you mean... it was yours?”

Loki is engrossed in the book, hunched over the edge of the bed as he thumbs through the pages with a smirk.

“A small morsel of my stay with your former employer,” he explains. “Fury must have found some humor in supplying me with a gothic romance.”

“This exact book?” You ask, shock numbing all other sense of reason. “How could it possibly be here then?”

“That’s what I’d like to know...” his fingers hover over the markings that had drawn you to Galen, that had created a false connection between you. Had given you reason, if even minuet, to kiss him.

“All those notes are yours?” You ask to confirm your suspicions.

He nods. ”The solitude made room for literary expertise.”

He tries to shift out of bed but groans and falls forward, hands on his knees. You reach out to support him but he swats your hand away.

“How long have you known this man?” He growls.

“Galen?” You sit up beside him. “Just as long as I’ve been here,” you say with a gesture toward the room around you. “He’s been working on healing me.”

He laughs. “Healing you? How exactly has he been healing you?”

“In case you forgot, I took a dagger for you,” you lash out.

He grabs you by the waist and pushes back the fabric of your dress enough so that your shoulders are bare. His fingertips hover over the wound, his breath softly caressing the torn tissue. He traces the scar with his fingers and then, with his lips, kissing you softly over the pale inseem. As if to apologize. As if to turn back time. 

“Did he touch you?” He whispers, his breath pooling over your back.

You are taken aback by his words and his wavering temperament. “Well, he was my doctor, so yes, he touched me. What does that...”

“Did he touch you?” he snaps, his fingers making pale indents in your forearm. You immediately realize what he is insinuating and remember the feeling of Galen’s lips against yours. How you initiated it. But wasn’t it only to benefit Loki? Wasn’t everything you did not somehow connected to him? As if a thin cord of thread hooked around you both. 

“Yes,” you mutter and add a little louder. “Yes, he did! Are you satisified?” You shove him away and pace toward the window.

“Satisfied...” he laughs. “You know very well what would make me satisified, pet...” He pauses and you hear his weight shift off the bed. “How?”

“How what?” You ask toward the view of Sakaar below. You nervously rub your fingers against your forearms to even out the blood flow.

“How did he touch you?” He growls behind you.

“I kissed him,” you confess.

“And?”

“And what, Loki?” You attempt to spin around and confront him but he pushes you into the glass window. Palms pressed into your reflection. Your breath fogs up the surface.

“Did he touch you like this?” His hand runs up the back of your thigh, under the fabric of your skirt and over your panties. He forcefully yanks them down off your legs. You assist, wiggling out of them and kicking them to the side. His palm smooths over your ass, the same way he did in your dream. You bite your lip to hush a whimper, anticipating the sharp pain that would follow. And the thrill of release. You need his pain. You need something that feels real, tangible from him.

“Did he touch you like this?” He repeats, as he slides down your body, face level to your hips.

“Loki, the window...”

“Didn’t I say I wouldn’t let anyone else touch you?” He pushes up your skirt and greedily licks your pussy from behind. You gasp and fall further into the glass window. Your legs tremble against the sides of his face as he laps up your juices eagerly. Gods, you missed his touch so much your need had become unbearable.

“Yes,” you moan and grind into his face. “No one touches me like this but you.”

He sucks on your inner thigh and you buckle.

“Yes... because you remember what you are?” he asks, grabbing a handful of your ass. You nod your head, though you doubt he can see the motion between your legs.

“You are mine,” he growls, his finger sliding into you as he stands. “All of your pain. All of your pleasure. Every sweet expression you make when you cum for me.” He holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head backward to rest against him.

“Mine,” he repeats as a whisper against your ear.

“I wish that were true,” you retort.

He pulls his fingers from you. His anger is tangible in the thick air, pushing into your lungs as you attempt to breathe it in. He pulls open your dress, the tunic style making it easy for your breasts to bounce out of the fabric. He pushes you into the glass so they are bare against it. The smooth icy surface pressing to your nipples only serves in arousing you further.

“You are mine,” he says. “To fuck how I like. When I like. And wherever I like. You’d be wise to remember that. I don’t like having to repeat myself.”

His words awaken you, fully.

You struggle against his grasp. “I am not your prized possession,” you groan defiantly toward the window. “I don’t belong to you.”

_Liar. You are owned. Submit. You want it. You need it. Be a good girl._

He spins you around and pulls you up so that your legs and arms are encased around him. His firm hands grip your ass for balance. He leans in to nibble and pull at your bottom lip, selfishly stealing a moan from you.

“Oh, but you are mine,” he implores. “Your body. Your mind. Admit it, sweet girl.” He kisses you fully and you thrust your hips into him, realizing how much you missed the taste of his mouth. He was a drug to you. Every time you told yourself he was deadly, your yearning for him grew even stronger than before.

“And I am yours,” he adds in a gentle whisper that almost causes you to lose your grip on him.

_Mine... would you ever truly belong to me, my God? As I belong to you?_

You push your hands up under the fabric of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against you. He quickly realizes the depth of your need and pushes you back into the glass as he pulls his shirt up and over his head. The second his bare skin makes contact with yours, you breathe into his neck.

“Fuck me, Loki,” you moan, fingers running through his hair. “Take what’s yours.”

The seductive smirk you longed to return curves over his lips.

“Gladly,” he replies before colliding his lips to yours. His tongue swirls around your mouth in a dance of need and longing. His moan into you is wanton.

He walks you both to the bed and releases you from his grasp so that you lie facing the wall. He straddles you, unbuckling his pants strategically at a maddeningly slow pace. You arch your hips up into him.

“Please,” you beg. “Two months is far too long to be without you inside me.”

“Oh, My sweet girl,” he groans as he pulls open your dress further until it is just fabric laid out beneath you. “You shall have me.” His cock springs free, his pants discarded to the side of the bed. He grabs you by the ankles, lifting your legs to his shoulders and spreading you wide for him to see all of you, pink and glistening. He licks his fingers and slides them over you until you squirm beneath him. He then glides his hand over his cock, covering his length with your arousal before plunging into you.

“Oh, still so damn tight,” he moans in approval. And you are, squeezing around him, pulling him deeper. You thrust up in time with him as he takes you. His hand caresses down your thigh as he leans forward to touch his lips to your calf, in soft, tender kisses. His lips always soothe every wrong, all the heartache you still clung to.

You reach out and grasp his hips as you moan louder with each movement inside of you.

“Who do you belong to, pet?” He prompts before leaning forward into you, his arms cage you in against the bed to either side of your head.

“You, Loki,” you answer, without hesitation. How quickly you bent to him when he fucked you. How weak you were, indeed. How could you have thought you were anything other than his plaything? And regrettably, you needed it this way. 

“Again.” He thrusts harder, giving you the friction and pressure you crave.

“You, master.”

He rewards you with his own moan, crashing into you with more passion and desire. Your head falls back over the side of the bed as you near your own edge of release.

“Good girls need to be rewarded,” he hums into your neck. His fingers swirl around your clit, smoothed over with luscious, creamy arousal.

You swear you hear the door creak open slowly but you don’t care, sitting up and pulling Loki with you as you bounce up and down over his cock. You wrap one arm up and around him, fingers tied into his wavy locks of hair. Your other hand pushes into his thigh.

“Loki,” you moan. “I’m going to...”

“Who do you belong to,” Loki asks in a menacing tone, quickening his pace. “Who fucks you the way you need?”

“You do, Loki! Oh god...” you cling desperately to him as you climax, nails digging into his back.

He holds you steady as the waves rock through your body and leave you weak in his arms.

_I am yours. And you are mine._

You nuzzle into his shoulder and sigh.

“I think you’ve made a miraculous recovery,” you jest breathlessly.

His chuckled response vibrates against your bare chest. You run your hands down his back, relishing in the sweat that coats your fingertips as you do.

His heartbeat matches your own, each beat echoing within you. You feel safe. You are exactly where you are suppose to be. His fingers trail up and down the back of your neck. And as he plants soft kisses on your shoulders and collar bone, you know what you want. And it isn’t to change him. You want to embrace him for all that he is: his redemption and his demons.

“Loki, I...”

“Did you enjoy the show?” He asks, words dripping like venom out of his mouth. His nails match your own, burrowing into your bare back, slippery with perspiration.

But he isn’t speaking to you. His face is turned upward toward the doorway.

You turn and your gaze meets your voyeur.

“Galen...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The glorious return of smut :)
> 
> Wow, guys. 10,000+ hits, that’s really awesome! I hope you all continue to enjoy :) I look forward everyday to reading your wonderful comments.


	22. II. New Horizons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ye ask and ye shall receive ;)

“Partners...” Galen mutters, dropping the breakfast he’d come back with onto the table. His hands are shaking. From anger or shock, you couldn’t say. His eyes are plastered to the floor in front of his feet. “Or is this another one of your illusions?”

“No, this is very much real.” Loki strokes your hair and nibbles on your neck in clear view of Galen. He is still hard inside you.

You try to shift off of him, ripe with embarrassment but he has an iron grip on the back of your neck and thighs. You are still throbbing around him.

“Loki, get off!” You protest, smacking his chest. The heat rushing over your face is making you lightheaded. Combined with your post-climatic high.

“I think he already did,” Galen remarks under his breath. You are too mortified to turn around and look at him. You bury your face in Loki’s shoulder and thrash against him defiantly. But your movements only make him groan as he thrusts into you to prove his continued arousal. Gods must all have relentless sex drives for Loki to be this hard after climaxing only moments before. Was there no satisfying him to completion?

“Maybe I should go...” you hear the door handle click.

“No, of course not,” Loki insists. “Not when we have so much to discuss.” He flips you over and pins you to the bed for a moment. You can see in his emerald eyes that the gears are turning in the midst of a scheme.

“Stay put or I will have to punish you later,” he whispers against your ear in a low growl that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand erect. You bite your lip and pull the bed covers high over your chest. The apex of your thigh slick with arousal.

He shifts out of the bed and walks, stark naked, to edge of the room to pour himself a glass of water.

“Now that you’re here, I’d like to learn more about you, Galen,” he prompts, taking a long swig of water. He is still fully erect. “Seeing as you seem to know so much about me already.”

“I don’t know anymore than what I’ve been told. And besides... I don’t think casual conversation is plausible right now,” Galen says, gaze held steady above Loki’s neck. “Can you at least put pants on?”

“Why? Am I making you aroused?” He laughs.

“You sick fu...”

“You’re a healer, aren’t you?” Loki interrupts. “Not like you haven’t seen this before. Though, I understand, the envy is unavoidable.”

You roll your eyes. _Smug. Bastard._

You reach for your robe hanging next to the bed and attempt to return to a state of modesty, despite the apparent lack of boundaries within the room.

“I have to give you my compliments,” Loki continues, between long sips. “My recovery is quite remarkable. As is hers. She should have been dead after a stab wound like that. But my... is she full of energy. ”

You gather your hair into a tie and glare at him across the room. _Just shut up, Loki._

“It was nothing, really,” Galen replies flatly. “It’s just my job.”

“Just your job...” Loki mutters with a scowl. “Was kissing her part of that job?”

Galen smirks before retorting, “No, and I have every intention of doing so again.”

“I’ll kill you before you can try.”

“I should have left you to die of starvation...”

“Ok, enough!” You bark, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. “This is ridiculous. Both of you.” You stand and meet Galen’s gaze for the first time since he entered the room. His shoulders are tight and his expression is slightly twisted as if he fighting every urge to let a visceral reaction show through the mask of his solid poker face. You throw a pair of pants at Loki with an instructive glare.

“Galen, are the guards suspicious at all?” You ask, in an attempt to turn the tide of the conversation.

He turns from you and shakes his head, looking at Loki, who is reluctantly sliding into the provided garments. “Your illusion is serving its purpose. For now. But as you said, I’ve done my job very well. And because of that, you can’t exactly stay in here for the whole duration of your imprisonment. I didn’t stick my neck out for you to just lie around in bed all day.”

His eyes shift toward you. “Though I understand the appeal,” he adds with a sigh. You pull the material of the robe tighter over your chest.

“We have the access codes to Stella’s ship,” you offer. “We need to just use them and get the hell out of here.”

“The armory is crawling with guards now because of Loki’s stunt,” Galen replies. “We need a plan for how to all get past them. And no ordinary illusion will cut it with this lot.”

“We?” Loki chuckles. “When exactly did you get involved in this?”

“When I helped save you from decaying in that damned jail cell,” Galen spews back, his teeth grinding together. Loki mutters something under his breath and starts to shorten the distance between him and Galen.

You wedge yourself between them.

“Galen is right,” you start, hand pressed to Loki’s shoulder. “We will need a plan and you will need a disguise.” You blush. “Preferably one with pants.”

He smirks at you and his eyes gleam as the gears grind to a screeching halt.

—

“You are such an asshole,” you mutter as you stride down the hall with Loki licking at your heels. You had somehow managed to escape the healing room with an ounce of your dignity left intact. Though, you couldn’t shake the nagging pang in your stomach. Of regret. Of shame. It wasn’t right. He shouldn’t have had to see that. He didn’t deserve that. Galen had barely said a word as you and Loki left the room. What was there to say?

“Oh pet, don’t be like that,” he cooes. “I thought you quite liked this form.” You don’t need to look at him to know he is smirking triumphantly at you. His smile is apparent even in the arrogant tone of his voice. Or rather... _her voice_.

“I never said that...” you mutter. “Can we focus on the task at hand? Galen managed to get us an audience with the Grandmaster. We shouldn’t waste this opportunity.”

Her arm slides in to link with yours as she pushes her side against you. You are thankful she managed to wear something somewhat conservative. But you blush regardless.

“Come on, we weren’t able to have fun last time like this,” she murmurs. “Humor me a little, won’t you?”

“No,” you glare. “Focus.”

She smiles in response as if she hasn’t heard your refusal.

Your arrival is announced as you enter the grand hall. It’s the first time you’ve seen it devoid of guests. Just the Grandmaster sitting on his “throne”, hands folded together under his chin.

“Oh my dear, you are looking quite like yourself again!” He exclaims upon seeing you.

You pull your lips up into a fabricated grin. “Thank you, Grandmaster. Your healer has taken very good care of me.”

“So I’ve heard,” he replies with a playful smile. “He seems quite taken by you.”

Loki’s arm snakes around you. “He’ll have to fight me before he can lay a hand on you again,” she says, loud enough for the Grandmaster to hear.

“And who is your friend?” His eyes trace lustfully over Loki’s female form, over every luscious curve.

“Sigyn,” you reply quickly before Loki can speak. “Her name is Sigyn. A friend from my time as a pleasure slave.”

Loki looks at you sideways, as if you’ve wounded her shallow pride but smiles at the Grandmaster, head bowed graciously. Her long black hair dusts the crystalline floor.

“It’s an honor,” she hums.

“No, truly the honor is mine,” he says, words dripping with a kind of hunger that makes you shiver. You glance back and find the guards have left the room. You were alone with the tyrant of Sakaar.

“Grandmaster, we wanted to speak to you about...”

“There will be plenty of time for talk later,” he interrupts. He sits up and takes long, intended steps toward the two of you. “I think we could use our time now more... effectively.”

“What do you have in mind?” Loki asks, pulling you closer.

The Grandmaster smiles as his eyes drift from you to Loki, before looping back around again.

“She’s a beautiful woman, isn’t she?” He says to Loki. “Have you been with a woman before, as a pleasure slave?”

Loki’s hands come around your back to slowly caress the curves of your hips. You gape at her but her expression tells you she has no plans of stopping. Her pearly white teeth appear like fangs the way she gleams at you. As if she’s meant to eat you alive. You fill your lungs in a deep breath and exhale slowly in an attempt to release the pressure.

“I almost exclusively sleep with women,” she purs against the back of your neck. Her fingers inch upward to delicately trace circles over your hardening nipples, threatening to tare holes in your satin dress.

“What are you doing?” You ask in a harsh whisper, one that quickly turns into a moan as her fingers pinch down on you.

“Fulfilling a promise,” she replies, kissing your neck softly. “Someone needs to be punished.”

“And have you, my dear?” The Grandmaster asks you, Loki’s hands now having inched up under the folds of your skirt.

“Never,” you breathe as her hand pushes higher to rest against your inner thigh. It takes you back to the night in the baths. The recollection makes you bite your lip in anticipation.

“Not here,” you whisper against her. “I can’t do this.”

“Do you not want me?” She asks, a pang of hurt in her voice.

You are silent. Fearful of how to answer. Could you truly be honest with Loki, and more importantly with yourself? Enough to admit that you had wanted her to take you like this in the baths. With the steam creating small droplets of water to collect over your flushed skin. Trickling down your legs in trails for her to lick up happily en route to your lower lips.

Knowing it was always Loki, always his mind beneath the guise of this woman’s body, made you want this. You wanted him. You wanted Loki. No matter what form he took.

“I want you,” you admit aloud in a moan, but continue to struggle against her. “But how is this part of the plan?”

“Does everything we do have to be so calculated?” Her fingers find your slick folds and she pushes her finger over your opening, warranting an audible gasp from your lips. “Can’t we do something just for the pleasure of it?”

“Not when we are stuck without a way home... not in front of him.”

“Relax,” she hums, a finger slipped inside. You moan as her slender finger glides in and out of you.

“Do you even want to leave Sakaar?” You demand between stifled groans of reluctant pleasure. “I don’t think you have any intention of leaving this place.”

“Maybe I don’t...”

“What are you two whispering about?” You had almost forgotten the Grandmaster was watching the two of you. You lock your legs together, causing Loki to pull her hand from between your clenched thighs.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he says with a smirk, sitting at the bottom step below his perch. Your muscles stiffen at the sound of his voice. How could you allow yourself to do this in front of this crazed “king”? For a second time?

Loki holds your chin between her finger tips and turns you to face her. She kisses you softly and you meld into her almost instinctively. It is as if she has complete control of all your bodily reactions to her touch. Everything is automatic. A reflex from your pleasure center.

“Focus on me,” she hums. “He isn’t important. This is about you and me. No one else.”

As she speaks, the grand hall fades away. It is replaced with a grand suite only drunken lucid dreaming could fabricate. Open windows allow a warm breeze to flutter past marbled columns. Waves of drapery flow against the wind. You swear you can feel it’s warm caress against your skin. You stand beside a plush bed of rich emerald velvet but your gaze is fixated on the illusionary landscape. The sun is setting, casting a warm amber glow over the crests of mountains beyond.

Was this Asgard? It felt as close to heaven as any mortal could ever hope to experience before death. You wonder if you’ll ever see his home beyond just a mirage.

But this was yet another illusion. _Always the trickster God._

“How is this helping...” your words trail off as your dress slides off and collects in a pool of fabric around your feet. She stands in front of you, equally bare and wanting.

“We need to regain his favor,” she replies, fingertips smoothing circles over your bare ass. She slides down your body, settling to peer up at you between your knees. Her mouth breezes over your clit, sending a stream of shivers up over your stomach. “This is how we first got his attention. So why not try it again from a new... angle.”

You gasp as her tongue flickers over you. You stumble backward on top of the faux bed, but hold steady enough for her to greedily lick up the juices you’ve already supplied. She moans into your mound, sucking on your lips. She pulls back, a string like glistening honey caught to her tongue.

“So wet already,” she hums into your pussy. “Does this form turn you on that much?”

You shake your head in denial as her tongue pushes inside of you. You sharply inhale at the feeling of her hungrily eating you out. You happily moan her name, hand tangled into her soft locks of hair.

Her eyes widen as she gazes up at you, lips locked to your sex. You pull her up on top of you, cradling her face in your hands. You smooth your thumb over her soft porcelain cheek. “I don’t care what form you take,” you confess and kiss her again. “I want you, Loki. Always.”

Instantly, you feel his familiar chiseled jawline in your hands, a day of course stubble creating friction against your skin. You pull back and see his masculine features wavering against his female form, as if he can’t hold the illusion steady.

You breathe his name again in a whisper but feminine lips collide with yours, soft and supple. Her tongue slides against yours, supplying you with the salty elixir of your desire. You pull back to catch your breath when legs push and puzzle piece themselves in place with yours. You gasp when you feel her sex make contact against you. Head thrown back, the room spins as she takes you like that, pushing into you, skin sliding together so slick with your combined arousal. You reach for her hand and when your fingers lock, you feel the ruggedness of his hands, his cock replacing the lips that softly kissed your entrance as he plunges into you. He fucks you with such vigor, a renewed sense of purpose. As if to prove his manhood. You arch your hips into him but he releases from within you and your sensitive entrance is pushed into an equal mound.

You are caught beneath Loki, caught between fluctuating genders. Dizzy from the combined pleasure of gentle lover and rough fucking. Of being filled and being caressed. Of male and female. And it all collides into both your orgasms, shattering the dizzying display, erupting through your gaping mouth in a torrent of pleasure. You fall against the bed but it quickly fades into nothingness as the beautiful glimpse into Asgard is replaced by the grand hall of Sakaar.

When you open your eyes, you see a breathless female Loki, gripping desperately to your legs. The two of you mingled together in the form of melding limbs, slick with perspiration and subdued desire.

You reach for her, pulling her face to yours when the illusion falls and your eyes meet the original Loki, gleaming at you triumphantly. You gape at him, remembering who is watching and open your mouth to speak when a guard comes crashing into the room.

“Sire! The prisoner, he’s escaped,” he informs in gasps for air.

You look up and the Grandmaster’s eyes are set to you both. And while he is clearly aroused, evident by the bulge outlined in his pant leg, there was a fire burning beneath his dilated pupils that was beyond comprehensible lust.

“Kill them both,” he orders through clenched teeth. “Kill them!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun writing this one as it’s totally new for me to write f/f!


	23. II. Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finale of Part 2

You had barely escaped from the grand hall as an army of guards emerged with the Grandmaster’s execution order. You sprint down the corridor, hand in hand with Loki. Thankfully, he had managed to fashion clothing back onto your bodies. A sort of magic, but not illusionary.

You struggle to keep pace with him, the train of your dress wrapping around your ankles. You hike it up in one hand and glance back. The charge of guards is right at your heels, armed with weapons that sizzle and spark at the prospect of being utilized.

“Do you still have the access codes?” Loki asks, pulling you with him as a rounds the corner.

You reach into your pocket and retrieve the crumpled piece of parchment.

“We are getting off this planet,” he says, giving your hand a squeeze of reassurance.

There is something thrilling in it, the adrenaline of escaping together. You feel impossibly close to him, fresh from an explorative session of lovemaking. It was the most liberating experience of your life. Both sexually and emotionally. Your loins craved the constant attention he was more than willing to supply. But your heart yearned for something much grander, something you were unsure if he would ever offer you. To lie in bed and hold each other as the crests of post-orgasmic high slowly returned you to stasis. In his bed. On Asgard.

But a part of your sub-conscience didn’t care whether he would give you the emotional sustenance you needed. You were happy in the present moment. And that’s all that mattered. There was no use wasting emotions over possible futures with him.

You were happy. Even while escaping certain death.

You are caught off guard when you reach the armory. Galen is standing with a new set of armed opponents. Loki slows his pace to a crawl.

Galen greets you with a torn smile and hums your name. “Are you alright?” He reaches for you.

“What is this?” You ask as the rest of the guards catch up to you. You are surrounded. Loki pulls you flesh to his side, his daggers posed and ready for offense.

A guard, with the painted markings of higher rank, passes something to Galen. Like a block of metallic interlocking rings. Galen bows in thanks and approaches you. As he does, a guard catches hold of Loki under the burning blade of his weapon and pulls him back, away from you. You reach for him but you are immediately blocked by a line of bodies and weapons. The heat from their spears sears off the small hairs on your arms from sheer proximity. You step back and your gaze meets Loki’s. He struggles against his captors but his daggers fall to the ground as a new set of shackles click to his wrists.

“I didn’t want it to happen this way,” Galen says. His hand smooths over your shoulder. “I just wanted to ensure you’d be safe.”

You smack away his touch. “The hell are you doing, Galen?”

“Getting you home,” he responds, holding the metal loops up for you to see. Ship keys? Was he bargaining Loki’s life as a means of escape?

You turn to look at Loki but his head is hung low to the floor. You can hear his laughter roaring up off the ground. His head lifts and he is smirking manically. His eyes gleam.

Your gaze meets his and in that moment you feel a rush of ethereal calm, as if Loki were prying into your mind, providing you clarity. Wherever Loki was, you belonged at this side. Your fate had twisted enough to affirm that cruel, beautiful reality. That’s where you wanted home to be.

You notice a shimmer off the edge of his body, like a sunspot glimmering at the corner of your eye before the pain of a migraine. As if he weren’t real. You try not to smile at the epiphany.

“But why help me, Galen?” You ask, leaning toward him. “What’s in it for you?”

“I care about you,” he responds. “Believe it or not, watching over you the past few months meant something to me.”

“And you think being my knight in shining armor would solidify your right to me?” You spit, mouth dripping with poisonous intent. “Did you honestly think that?”

He smiles as if he is addressing a naive child. “You are a spitfire, you know that?” He laughs lightly. “That’s why I like you.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you mutter.

“Don’t you want to return home?”

“Aren’t you going to tell her?”

You turn at the sound of his voice. He is smiling manically under the clutches of the Grandmaster’s goons.

“Tell her what?” Galen demands, eyes narrowed toward him.

“Where’d you get the book, Galen?”

Galen’s expression twists for a moment before settling into a grin. “That doesn’t seem relevant...”

“It isn’t yours,” you glare. “It belonged to Loki... and more importantly, it belongs to S.H.I.E.L.D. How did you get something like that?”

He laughs. “Come on now, don’t you trust me at all? I saved your life.”

“Trust is relative,” you mutter. “How did an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. get to Sakaar?”

He turns to you and whispers. “I’ll explain everything when we have left Sakaar. Please, just come with me.”

“Who are you?” You scream.

Galen removes his glasses, dangling them helplessly from his fingertips and rubs his thumb and index finger over his temple. “This really didn’t have to be this difficult.”

“Your recovery was too quick,” Loki says to you. “While he kept you in those chambers for months, didn’t it seem odd to you that you managed to survive at all? No mortal should have recovered from a wound like that.”

You reach back to feel the wound on your back, how it barely even left a scar. The pale inseam like a strange reminder that you had come back from the other side of the darkness.

“No meager Midgardian doctor could heal you like that.” Loki looks slightly defeated and adds, “If I hadn’t been so consumed by rage, I could have tried to healed you myself. But even I couldn’t have saved you...”

Was he sent by S.H.I.E.L.D., or was he even from earth at all... how did the book come into his possession? And why?

The glasses fall and Galen crushes them under the heel of his boot. The glass crunches beneath the enforced weight.

“It seems I’ve been caught in a lie,” he confesses. He grabs your hand and pulls you into him. “But I didn’t lie when I said I’d get you out of this place. And that I care about you. That was never part of it... I never planned for...”

You slink down and grab a shard of broken glass, jabbing it into his neck. It isn’t enough to seriously wound him but enough to be a distraction. He stumbles back, holding the leaking wound as you dash to the ship behind him. Loki’s illusion fades in the arms of the guards. As you run, you see the familiar shimmer of a glamour encasing you in a cocoon, your copy emerging from your form. She winks at you and runs in the opposite direction, luring the guards away to make for a clean escape.

But Galen’s eyes are fixated on you as you pace toward Stella’s ship. It’s as if he can see through the magic cast around you.

Loki emerges from the haul of the ship, standing at the edge of the lowered ramp. He reaches out his hand to you and pulls by the arm into the ship. You collide into him, breathing heavy from the sprint. His arms brush up over your back.

“You are starting to get keen to my plans, pet,” he says proudly with the curve of a smile playing over his lips. He closes the hatch behind you and pulls you into the cockpit.

You had spent an evening studying drafts of aircraft blueprints after the attack on New York, when the research into alien aircraft became high priority. But this was much more similar to what you were used to on Earth. The elaborate set up of hundred of dials that all seemed to hold one unique purpose. And the core controls for steering.

You slide into the copilot’s chair and fumble to input the access codes into the central panel. As if you had any idea how to pilot an alien aircraft. The illuminated keypad comes alive with neon numerical shapes as you work.

Loki slides in next to you to man the helm.

“Galen, he shouldn’t have had access to that book...” you start to mumble. “Where did he get it?”

He turns to you, eyes hinting with disapproval as he plays over your words. “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” you reply wide-eyed. “Of course it does. Doesn’t it bother you that he has something from S.H.I.E.L.D?”

He smirks. “Oh but I’ve taken many things from that pathetic organization.” He pulls your face to his and kisses you roughly, moaning into your lips: “But you, my pet, are by far my favorite.”

You pull away, flustered and punch in the last few digits, causing the ship to roar to life. Though the viewport you see your escape route out of Sakaar and know there would only be a few precious minutes to spare before the guards heard the rumble of the ship leaving the armory.

Loki pulls back a lever and the vessel starts to move forward, preparing to launch out of the storage facility and into the open sky ahead. The rumble of the ship seems to echo behind you. It launches forward with a swift movement of Loki’s hand and you sink into the back of the chair from the force of the lift.

Your gaze locks onto him, beaming behind the controls. As if he was always meant for flying. You wonder if it’s just the he revels in the success of it, in the manipulation. Of feeling something react perfectly under his control. How you react under the force of his hand, open and willing to do as he pleased.

You turn away and look forward toward the view of Sakaar gradually shrinking below as you near the wormhole, spewing new collections onto the surface of the planet. Your escape was laid out plainly in front of you. No loophole. No struggle. It all feels too simple. To have been trapped on this world for so long and to suddenly, without hesitation, make a clean escape. Something didn’t add up.

“I’m not dreaming, am I?” You ask. He turns to you and smiles. But as he does, the ship rocks sideways from a foreign impact. Loki jerks the helm to the left to counterbalance as you react, running to the back of the haul, holding onto the metallic interior for balance. From the rear view, you see a ship trailing behind you.

“Does this ship have any guns?” You shout over the roar of the engines.

“We won’t need them.”

The ship takes a sharp turn and you plummet into the side of the haul, your shoulder slamming into the hard surface.

“Warn me before you do that!” You scream, holding your arm.

“Consider this your warning,” he calls. And you grip desperately to a dangling loop above your head to keep from sliding into the opposite side of the ship as it turns. Your legs dangle as it begins it’s descent, the gravitational distortion of the wormhole pulling you in.

“Hold onto something!”

You tighten your grip as the ship soars through the wormhole, dodging the onslaught of debris and...

“He is still behind us!” You realize.

“He’s a fool,” Loki calls in response. But as you peer through the rear view you notice your opponent is soaring past the onslaught with ease.

“That’s it,” you mutter and release your grip on the strap. You catch sight of a bright button, blinking with need and beckoning you to act. You smack your hand hard against it, triggering the release of the hatch and the very overdue weaponry. You cling to the emerged gun, to keep from hurling into the chaotic universe beyond. You pull it up and aim it out into the open space ahead, where the enemy ship is in clear view. You barely passed target training when you interned at S.H.I.E.L.D. Bullets flew past the cardboard cutout as if the goal were to spare your opponent. But now, you are full of adrenaline. A need to get off this godforsaken planet in one piece. You feel the energy surge through your fingers as you pull the trigger and a spray of bullets fills the air, like fireflies dancing toward their target.

They make contact into the ship in a display of sparks and muted flames, diluted in the vacuum of space.

The enemy quickly counter attacks, an assault firing into the open haul, sending your vessel into a spiral. Your body is flung helplessly from the impact. A scream comes out of your throat, harsh and encompassing around your broken body as you tumble. Stray supplies collide with a clank into your skull and your vision blurs into an empty void.

When you manage to come to, your head is throbbing from the effects of the impact. But a warm touch over your forehead soothes the ache. As if a pain reliever were being smoothed over your skin.

“I need to stop fainting, this is getting ridiculous,” you manage to mumble as you struggle to rise.

You blink and his form becomes clear against the bright light surrounding him like an ethereal halo.

 _Loki_.

“Welcome to Asgard,” he greets with a small smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued...
> 
> Returning this weekend :)


	24. III. Asgard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Asgard, friends :)
> 
> So I’m a liar... in honor of Tom Hiddleston’s birthday, I’m posting a day early.
> 
> This is a bit of a longer chapter so hang tight.

_I must be dead. I have bested death too many times to be this lucky._

Loki helps you out of the remains of the battered ship and the view around you is truly mesmerizing. Perhaps this is heaven. But did you deserve that? Hadn’t Loki led you running into the fires of hell? Hadn’t you been so willing to let the flames consume you?

But this is Asgard. And it is just as you’d seen in his illusion. Clear skies gleam behind scarce clouds above you. A broad spectrum of color casts over the stone architecture, from a brilliant sun gleaming through the misty cover.

You look at the vessel that had ushered your escape. Clearly your entry had not been a smooth landing. Half of the haul was missing. The rest is a twisted image of its former glory. Your skirt is torn and your legs are bruised, dusted with soot. But you should be far worse than you are.

Had he shielded you somehow? Why did he seem unharmed...

A crowd is gathered around the wreckage. They whisper and stare at you. Or were they staring at Loki? They are all beautiful men and women shimmering as brightly as the sun beyond the horizon. _Asgardians_. Loki pulls you forward. A mere mortal humbled to be amongst the Gods in Valhalla. You suddenly feel underdressed and under privileged to be seen in their presence.

“Brother!”

You look up to see Thor’s approach as the crowd parts way for him. He charges forward and captures Loki in the bulk of his arms. Loki reaches up to return the embrace. You eye him doubtfully. From the reports you’d read, their relationship was apparently strained. Given that Thor was an Avenger and Loki was, well...

“You need to stop doing this, Loki!” Thor exclaims with a bright smile. “Always making me think you’re dead.” He turns to you and adds, “this may be the third time.”

“It’s good to see you too, brother,” Loki says with a small smile.

Thor claps you on the shoulder, his firm hand colliding with a bone that may be slightly displaced. You stifle a groan of displeasure. “And you as well! I’m sorry you had to suffer with my brother’s company.”

Suffering was far from what you endured with Loki. You resist biting your lip in reaction to the sudden recall.

“Come, come,” Thor booms, his arm wrapped around your shoulders. “We will prepare a feast for my brother’s return.” He turns to a woman at his side. “Prepare a room for our guest,” he instructs. “Garments as well.”

“How long were we gone?” You ask as you shift under the weight of his arm.

“Since yesterday,” Thor replies. “But falling from the bifrost can be so dangerous that...”

“One day...that’s it?” You interrupt. “We were on Sakaar for months.”

“Draw a bath,” Thor adds to the woman in a whisper.

He leads you to a room fit for royalty. You feel humbled as you walk inside, running your fingers over every surface of furniture and linen, like a child needing tangible evidence that your surroundings are real.

“Miss,” a woman, presumably a maid, calls from the edge of the room. “The bath is this way.”

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Thor says with a small bow. “I’ll send for you when the feast is ready.”

You look around him, searching for Loki. But he is gone, several steps ahead of Thor, seemingly detached. Did being back in Asgard mean your fling had only been that? A temporary solution for his loneliness on Sakaar?

You disrobe and settle into the bath, helplessly allowing the maid to scrub the grime from your hair and apply oils and salts over your skin. You are absorbed in your thoughts, twisted with rejection. You bring your knees up to your chest and hug them flesh to your rib cage. Your lips rest against your kneecaps.

“Something bothering you, my dear?” The woman asks sweetly.

You barely turn to look at her. “I guess I just miss home,” you lie.

Her fingers run over your back as she cups water to cleanse the soap from your shoulders. When you are thoroughly rinsed, she stands and holds a plush towel out for you. You gladly take it, relishing in the warmth that cocoons around you.

“Would you like me to braid your hair?” She offers.

You nod, settling down onto the edge of the bed. She runs a comb through your hair, and starts to create plaits from the strands.

You are comforted by the feeling of her hands through your hair. Of her soft hum behind you. It reminds you of the sleepovers you had as a child. When your friends would take turns testing out their lack of skill on your frizzy locks of hair. But this was different. This was soothing on your scalp. You breath in the scent of the oils she’s applied. Hints of lavender flow over you and pull away fragments of the residual tension.

“What’s your name?” You ask, tilting your head to her.

“Sigyn.” You can hear the smile in her voice.

All blood seems to rush out of you, leaving you stone cold and frozen to the bed. Your heart is pounding, and your throat tightens. As if allergic to her name. As if hearing it has made your lungs rebel and your heart forfeit.

_“He had a marriage arranged with an Asgardian woman. Sigyn was her name.”_

“What was it like, being with the prince for that long?” She asks as she finishes the end of the braid with a knot. “He has quite a unique temperament.”

“It was fine,” you reply bluntly.

“Was he kind to you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you enjoy his company?”

You stand from the bed as her fingers fall from your hair. “Thank you but I’d like to dress in private.”

“Of course.” She flutters away and you pick at your nails. A nervous habit you had hoped you’d left behind in Sakaar. She has placed a dress beside you but you can barely look at it.

You were free from Sakaar, from a prison that had somehow turned into your refuge. A place where being with Loki made sense. Where nights with him were your comfort, and sometimes your doom. But now on Asgard, the false pretense had lifted and there was no reason for entertaining the relationship any further. Who would choose a mortal woman over an Asgardian goddess?

You push the air from your lungs as if to cleanse yourself of the poisonous sludge wrapped around your heart. But it remains there, determined to kill you slowly.

Visions of your escape come to mind as you pull the dress over your head, the amber, twisted fabric reminding you of something... of the ship, alit with enemy fire. The world going upside down. Your skull colliding into something hard. _Crack_. The smell... Iron? _Blood._ A scream. _Loki._ His blistering blood-shot eyes. He is screaming your name. Reaching for you. He is gone. Pulled away. Taken? _Loki. Where are you? I need you._

 _Loki_.

You blink, staring at your reflection. There are tears in your eyes.

_How did you get here?_

A knock at your door forces you to wipe your eyes, frantically. But your emotional state is evident by the puffy swell around your lashes.

“Miss?” Sigyn calls behind the door. “They are asking for your attendance at the celebratory banquet. Shall I escort you there?”

You settle the dress properly into place and open the door. You nod simply to her and follow her down the hallway. When you arrive, you immediately stiffen. The room is full, the tables overflowing with food and the chairs aligned with a myriad of guests. Loki is beside Thor, talking over pitchers of ale, ones that seems to have been refilled several times. Though there is a scatter of broken shards at Thor’s feet.

No one notices your arrival. The only empty seat is at the end of the table, far from your host and your former lover. You settle into it, thankful for the anonymity, and gulp down the foreign beverage in front of you, wanting to be numb to the rest of the evening. It leaves a bitter burn on the trail down your throat.

“Tell us about this place. Sakaar was it?” a bearded blonde says to Loki. A woman propped like an accessory in his lap. “What were the women like? Better than the beauties here?” His hand is on the woman’s waist, tickling her until she squirms and giggles into his neck.

Loki laughs in response. “Oh, there were many women. None that truly pleased me.”

 _Mine_ , you recall. _And I am yours._

You knock back the remainder of the drink and all too quickly become aware of the hollow pit that is your stomach. You swallow, desperate to stop the room from tilting. You set the glass down and reach for a bread roll, stuffing the puffy innards into your watering mouth.

You hear your name called from the other end of the table and drop the husk of the roll onto your plate, brushing crumbs from your lips.

“Come visit with us!” Thor calls, beckoning you forward with his hand extended. “I’d love to know how my brother acts without us around.”

You feel it is unwise to deny the request of your host and stand. It takes every ounce of your remaining composure to walk over to them. _I am not drunk yet._ You ask a servant to refill your chalice.

A man, dark haired and bearded, like the other two men, rises from his seat to offer you a place beside the brothers. You smile at him as you settle into the chair. Thankful to be able to hold onto something to steady your balance.

“So, which Loki did you get?” The blonde asks. “The menacing misunderstood villain type?”

“Or the spoiled child with a temper-tantrum?” The sturdy red-head to his right adds. The two men roar in laughter as they clink their glasses together.

You clear your throat. “I suppose I saw neither.”

Thor looks at you inquisitively but Loki speaks before he can reply. “I found favor with the ruler there,” he explains. “We spent the majority of our time in the lap of luxury as honored guests. He allowed us to leave when we were ready to do so.

Lies. Why lie here? What was the benefit in that? _What is your end game_?

“You weren’t eagerly plotting your way home the minute you got there?” Thor asks.

“Why rush it when we were perfectly safe?”

You glare at him. _Perfectly safe... when I was almost raped and killed. When you were imprisoned for months. When Galen..._

 _Galen_. What had become of him when you left Sakaar? You absentmindedly sip from the chalice, recalling his torn expression as you ran to your victory in Loki’s arms.

A chorus of bells triggers the dinner service. A servant reaches forward to place a platter of food in front of you, echoing the actions of her fellow servants around the table. She steps away and you wonder how Loki had been matched with a servant girl for marriage. Sigyn was pretty and kind, but you would have assumed a higher rank would be more suitable for a prince of Asgard. If a servant girl could marry a prince, perhaps your chance of winning his heart wasn’t so unrealistic.

You huff. Who were you trying to fool?

The red haired man beside you immediately excavates the food with his bare hand, ripping a tendon of meat off the bone with his teeth.

“You must try this,” he says when he sees you gawking, showing you a mouthful of the partially chewed morsels.

You turn away and poke at the food with a fork when Loki’s hands comes down to rest over yours. You look at him, wide-eyed and mute.

“Darling, you need to eat,” he says softly.

 _Darling_? You blink and pull your hand away. Thor eyes his brother with a small smile. For Loki to show affection towards you in front of this crowd... it felt wrong.

“This is pretty,” he remarks as his hand strokes down your braid, his fingers loop around the frayed ends. You imagine his hand tightening around the tangled rope of your hair. He’d pull you back, so that you were looking up at him as he pushes himself inside you and filled your mouth.

But his hand releases as he continues with his meal. You swallow a gulp of your drink to push down the shameful thought.

“Loki, about father,” Thor starts. “We must return to Midgard.”

Loki nods. “Of course. We will leave tomorrow.”

“Sakaar has softened you, Loki,” he replies with a laugh, his eyes drifting to you. “Do you wish to return home?”

You stare down at the food. You weren’t ready to face the reality of returning to Earth. To return that the damned desk job. To return to lonely nights and lackluster days.

“She will return with us,” Loki confirms.

You feel the room go cold. Nausea clouds your judgment and you stand abruptly. If he wanted to be rid of you so quickly, so be it.

“Will you excuse me?” You mutter and scurry off out of the room, leaving the brothers staring off after you.

_(To be continued)_


	25. III. Violated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** TW: Rape **

You miraculously find a washroom and relieve yourself of the crawling bile moving up your throat. _Too much wine_ , you curse. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand when Sigyn walks into the room, armed with a warm towel served on a silver tray. As if she knew. As if she had followed you in.

“You must think so highly of me,” you mutter. But she only smiles at you as you meekly take the offering and clean the rest of the regret from your lips. You stare at your reflection in dismay.

“You’ve traveled so far to find yourself here,” Sigyn says. “I think I’d be far worse... if the man I loved was acting strangely.”

“I don’t love him,” you argue but the attempt is mute. You can hardly even convince yourself.

“It doesn’t matter,” you continue. “I’ll be going home tomorrow. And all of this will be like a fever dream... long forgotten.” The cloth had already begun to cool as you place it over your face and breathe in the residual steam.

“Tomorrow?” Sign asks in a small voice. You drop the cloth to look at her, her eyes rimmed with panic.

“Is something wrong?” You ask.

She shakes her head and takes the cloth from you as a group of women enter the washroom, their voices echoing off the cobbled walls.

You make to leave when Sigyn grabs your arm, more firmly than you would have expected out of her fragile frame.

“Don’t let him into your bed tonight,” she warns harshly.

“Excuse me?” You stare at her, baffled. You try to shake off her grip on your bicep but she holds steady.

“Don’t,” she repeats, pleading with her eyes.

Had she witnessed his hunger? The fervent need that leaked out of every pore. Often in violent outbursts for release.

“I think I can handle him,” you reply. “I know very well what his sexual appetite requires.”

She glares. “No, you don’t understand...”

“I don’t need your advice!” You push past her and leave the washroom, with the gossiping women and your lover’s old flame hanging in the doorway.

You enter the guest chamber with a huff. You fumble with the ties of your dress in frustration, your hands trembling against the knots.

_Did you love her? “Perhaps, for a time.”_

Was that what this was about? Was she trying to keep you from being with Loki? Because she still had feelings for him?

But how could you blame her? You’d be just as desperate to keep him all to yourself. You had gone to just as many lengths when Stella had been the immediate threat. You’d seduced Loki back into your bed. Or rather... a chair.

Would she try to do the same?

You squint against the dim light of the room as you recall how you spoke to her. You shouldn’t have been so harsh toward her. In the morning, you determine it would be right to apologize. You didn’t need to leave on such bad terms.

You sigh, falling flat on the plush bed, staring up at the ceiling as if you meant to gaze through the roof and search through the stars. Was your sun somewhere in that celestial heaven above? A beacon luring you back to where you belonged. In the morning, you’d return to Earth. In the morning, you may never see Loki again. In the morning...

“May I come in?”

You blot into a sited position. _Loki_.

“Yes!” You call back too quickly.

He enters the room, closing the door behind him.

“Are you feeling alright?” He asks as he strides toward you.

“Just a bit faint,” you admit. “The atmosphere here must be lighter than I’m used to.”

He settles down next to you on the bed.

“My brother seems fond of you,” he says.

“I don’t think it takes much to get on Thor’s good side,” you laugh. “You’ve tried to kill him several times and yet... here you are.”

The conversation feels odd. You lean into him. “Do you really mean to have me return to Earth?” You ask. “Are you so desperate to be rid of me?”

He smiles. “Maybe I’ll stay with you there.”

You go wide-eyed as his hand smoothes over your shoulder. But you shudder when his fingers makes contact with your bare skin. His touch is warm, tempered over your flesh. You jerk away.

“What? Feeling shy suddenly?”

Even the way he smirks is wrong. The way his lips twist, it reminds you of a caricature, of an imitation, of ...

His lips crash into yours as he pushes you back into the plush bedding. It balloons around you, encasing you in like the frame of a coffin. His tongue searches every inch of your mouth as if it were his first time tasting your tongue against his. He pulls away, letting his mouth roam off of your lips and over your jawline. You are frozen as he suckles your neck, leaving his mark on your tender flesh. Like swollen rose petals scattered over your skin.

Loki was never so desperate as to skip the delicate allure of using his silver-tongue to seduce you. A tongue laced with promises of grandeur and fulfilled longing. He relished in seeing you squirm under the prospect of breaking you.

But now, it is as if he couldn’t be bothered with getting your desire pent up until you were begging for him to take you. He needed you. And he needed you _now_.

“Stop,” you murmur, hands pressed into his chest. “Loki, slow down.”

He doesn’t listen and continues down your chest. He attempts to open your dress but you've made a mess of the ties, so much so that you are trapped inside the fabric. Agitated, he grabs the material between his hands and tears it open. As if you are a present needing to be unwrapped. Released, he mouths your breast impatiently, his teeth grazing your tender flesh.

You manage to wiggle out of his grasp and shove him away with the heel of your foot, causing him to stumble back onto the glossy floor. You clutch at the tattered remains of your dress and stare down at him in dismay.

“I just need... a minute,” you breathe.

“You don’t need a goddamn minute,” he mutters before he is on top of you again. He forces you around so that your face is buried in the pillows. You can barely breathe under the weight of his body. One hand pins you down while the other pulls the remains of the dress down over kicking legs. He wraps your braid around his fist and pulls til you are bent unnaturally backward from the force of his hand.

“I thought you enjoyed it rough,” he groans into your ear.

“Not like this,” you cry out as you feel his erection press against your lower back. He pushes his fingers into your mouth, forcing you to coat them thoroughly with your saliva. When he is satisfied, he glides his fingertips over your asshole. You gasp as you feel a finger glide inside.

“Oh, an anal virgin at least...”

His fingers release, the grip on your braid loosening enough for you to fall back down against the bed. His hands are between your thighs, forcing them to widen. He spreads your ass cheeks apart before the head of his cock pushes into you in a failed attempt. You struggle underneath him. The tears streaming down your face absorb into the pillow. He tries again, and this time the force he uses gives him a minor victory.

“Loki, Stop!”

He thrusts and his cock just barely fits inside as you cry out in pain. His name leaves your lips in a scream of defeat rather than one of pleasure. Your nails dig into the bed to grip fistfuls of the comforter.

_Why are you doing this? I’m not ready for something like this... Not like this._

“Get off me, please,” You whimper as he pushes further. He is tearing you apart, pulling your skin right from the seams. You are going to break. You are going to crumble beneath him.

“I would have thought this would be easier,” Loki moans. “The way he fucked you.”

Every thrusts feels like he might sever your spine at the base. Like your insides might collapse. Warmth spreads down your leg.

“I wanted to take you the right way,” he adds. “But he ruined that for me... now, I have to get my pleasure from taking this virginity instead.”

He leans over you. His cock is barely inside but still causes you to cry out with every movement. “You can blame him for what’s happening to you. I want you to hate him as I do.”

You put every last reserve of energy into shoving back against him, enough to loosen his grip on you. You catch sight of a crimson ring glistening off his hard cock. Your blood acting as a lubricant for his attempt at claiming you. Loki was violent but he wouldn’t have done this to you. He was crazed, but he had his limits. You were sure of it. The night he blindfolded you, you saw the regret in the way he touched you after, in the tenderness that enveloped every action he took toward restoring your faith in him. In his need to have you come to him willing, wanting and wet.

Not with fear and force. But with a lust that couldn’t be contained after his torment.

This wasn’t Loki.

“Who the hell are you?” You scream.

He smirks down at you before he slaps you, rough against the side of your face. It knocks you back down against the bed, leaving you weakened enough for him to grab you by your ankles and spread you wide for him.

“I am the man fucking you,” he says as he thrusts inside your cunt. You gasp and cry out for him to stop. Each movement is deep, hitting the base of your womb. The pillow muffles your screams as his hand pushes down against the base of your skull.

“I am the man taking back what’s his.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, this was hard enough for me to write. But story progression called for it. Hang in there!


	26. III. Trauma

When he finishes, he leaves you limp on top of the soiled sheets. Your raw flesh littered with bruises and scratches from your last attempts at resistance. The torn remains of your dress are scattered around you.

You had fought against him every step of the way. Screaming, nails ripping into his flesh until you drew blood. Clawing at his face that looked too pleased to see you in pain. But when he found release inside of you, you lie broken against the mattress. As if it wasn’t really happening. As if you had left your body completely.

He buckles his pants and runs his fingers through his hair, gazing down at you, curled into a fetal position below him. He leans down to brush his hand over your arm as if a sign of affection. You instantly retreat away from his touch. He kisses your shoulder regardless.

“In time,” he murmurs. “In time, you’ll love me the way you love him.”

He leaves the room, door slamming behind him.

Asgard suddenly feels like a much colder place than you ever imagined it would be. And as the hours pass, you barely realize it is morning. The light streaming in through the panes of frosted glass confirm the dawn. You hadn’t slept. You hadn’t moved. Your eyes had held plastered to the doorway, fearing his return. The monster parading around in Loki’s image like a skin suit.

Where was Loki if this man had taken his place? Had he even left Sakaar with you or was that a mirage as well?

The thought of his mangled corpse flashes over your vision. His face torn and melting, calling out for you in horrific pain. You cry out, clutching the pillows. _Gods, just let him be alive. Let me die here if you could just let him live._

There is a knock at the door some time later and you lie still, face buried into your knees. How could you fight him off now? With no more willpower left in your battered soul.

You hear the door creak open, followed by light foot steps. There is silence before a cool hand brushes over your arm. Like ice over your boiled skin.

You turn around to find Sigyn behind you. Her eyes are glossed over in a mix of rage and horror, of glistening tears that refuse to fall.

“Please don’t look at me.” You grasp at the torn sheets. You bury your head in your hands. “Go away.”

Her hand smooths back your hair as she slowly falls against the bed beside you.

“I let this happen,” she mutters. “He did this to you because I wasn’t here. Because of...”

“Sigyn...”

Her hands run over your bare back, trailing cautiously over every bruise. Over the scratches his nails had left in your tender flesh. As if she was memorizing each new marking. You twitch away from her touch, retreating under the protection of the flimsy sheets.

“I’ll kill him,” she adds, in a tone you hardly recognize. “Gods, I’ll rip his head right off his spine and plaster him plainly for all of Asgard to see. I’ll tear him limb from limb until there’s nothing left of him. I’ll shove his severed manhood into...”

Her hands are trembling.

“Why are you taking the blame for this?” You ask meekly, turning fully to look at her. “I didn’t listen to you. I thought I knew him...but that wasn’t Loki.”

You sit up and look down at your body, like a canvas for his demented artwork. The faded image of a memory frozen in time.

“That wasn’t my Loki.”

Sigyn’s eyes widen before her cool touch smooths over your cheek. Even her gentle touch alarms your rattled nerves. You whimper, hands held over your mouth to stop from being any louder.

“Hush,” she says softly. “Let’s get you washed up.”

As she speaks, the words echo in your ears as if you’ve heard them before. You don’t refuse her offer, fumbling to stand and using her arms as a balance. You want to cleanse his touch from your skin, to rid yourself of his scent that permeated through your flesh. To wash away what memory you could remove.

As you walk slowly to the bath, every step feels like needles. Every movement a reminder of how he took you. How he forced himself inside of you. Into every hole left untouched. The pain radiating from your core grows with each step forward.

You begin to shake just from the recall.

“It’s alright,” she keeps saying. “I’m here.”

She helps cradle you into the water. As you settle into it, you allow the warmth of the steaming bath to seep into your sore muscles. Her hands slowly weave through your hair, undoing the loosened remains of your braid. Water trickles down your back from her welcome hands.

But you feel numb to her touch.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”

You can’t understand what she’s apologizing for. Was she empathetic? Was she just trying to comfort you? You close your eyes and lean into your kneecaps, your hair falling over your shoulders. Your heart is pounding inside your shallow chest. Each thump like a painful reminder of how his heart raced when he took you.

“I’ve lost everything,” you say to her between sobs, coming automatically from somewhere deep within your tattered soul. “I’ve lost whatever virtue I had left... I’ve lost myself ... “

You pause to breath in deeply, picturing his face the way you envisioned it before. Two steps from death. “But what hurts the most is that I’ve lost the man I love.”

You sob uncontrollably into the bath. Your voice vibrating off the cobbled walls. The hand stroking your hair ceases.

The stillness is maddening. Your breathing. Your heartbeat. The ripple of the water as you move ever so slightly.

“So you admit it,” she whispers slowly.

“Admit what?” You ask.

“Admit that you love him.”

Your tears coat the tops of your knees as you nod. “Yes... I love him,” you admit. It feels as natural as breathing. “I love him.”

You run your hands up and down over your legs, nervously. “But even if he is somewhere out there still...he won’t want me now. Not after... not after...”

Her hand suddenly feels firmer, heavier on your shoulder. Your name is spoken in a deep, masculine whisper. You lift your head from your boney joints and slowly attempt to turn.

“No,” he says. His arms wrap around your shoulders, pressing your back against his chest. “Don’t look at me.” His hands are shaking as he grips you. Every nerve awakens from being touched so intimately again. It burns your skin. But you dare not pull away.

“Loki...” you are still crying, sobbing into his forearms. You reach up to hold him there. Both of you trembling as if small vibrations were coursing through your muscles, equally uncontrollable. You are horrified for having admitted your feelings for him in this way. In the post-trauma of rape.

He kisses the top of your head. “I promised that I’d never let anyone touch you,” he whispers. “But back then, I meant it out of possession. Out of jealousy. Out of a shallow need to have your purity all to myself.”

He kisses your shoulder so tenderly, your sobbing ceases. “And now...” his lips touch your cheek.

You disobey him, turning around to look at him. He turns his face away but you hold him steady between the palms of your hands and guide his gaze to yours. A gaze that is lacking an emerald twin. An incomplete set. The torn flesh over his left eye appears as a crusted gash, red and swollen. A blue tinge hints beneath the scarred flesh, covered by darkened blood scattered over the side of his face, trailing down his jaw from impact.

You reach your fingers up to slowly hover over the wound. Over the part of him that was missing.

“I am now the monster you always knew me to be,” he mutters.

You lean forward and touch your lips softly just below the wound, against the hollow of his eye. You kiss him again, against his other cheek. You kiss his forehead, his ear, his neck, and his jawline in turn until you finally find his lips and the two of you connect in a tender caress.

“I love you,” you say again, this time fully embracing the confession, delivering it directly to him as intended. “I love you, Loki.”

You feel his tears run over your lips as he reaches around to pull you closer, kissing you back fully. There is pain in your embrace. But also longing. Also the weight of how important it was that you had accepted him, for everything he was and everything he never would be.

And that he had accepted you.

Your kiss deepens but not enough to send you spiraling into the recall of last night. Enough to feel his cool breath pool over you. His lips trail off of yours to slowly make a path down your neck. To wash away the markings of his imposter, who had unrightfully touched you there. Nothing would erase that moment, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try to replace those memories with something beautiful.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your neck. “Forgive me...”

Your fingers bury into his hair as he cries into your shoulder. You hold each other like that until you are wrinkled and pruned. Until your hunched over forms becomes sore and stiff. Until both your hearts slow to a reasonable rhythm.

Until he pulls you into his arms, carrying you bridal style from the bath.

“I don’t want you to have to see this room ever again,” he says softly. You feel the warmth of clothing wrap around you by his magic. You settle your head into his shoulder, breathing in his scent. His evergreen frost. Your hands rest on his chest, childishly picking at the lint on his shirt.

You leave the room and walk out into the broad daylight. The bright sun blinding your swollen eyes.

“Where are you taking me?” Your voice is hoarse, broken from hours of screaming the night prior.

“Somewhere safe,” he promises, kissing the part of your hair. “To stay with someone who will protect you.”

“You’ll protect me...” you murmur.

He shakes his head, defeated.

“I’ve failed you,” he replies. “But I promise to make it right.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I am going to find this imposter,” he says. “And I am going rip his cock off with my bare hands and watch him slowly bleed to death. That will be a good start.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m curious if anyone saw that reveal coming...


	27. III. Loki’s POV

As Loki walks through the palace, your eyes barely lift from his chest. He looks down at you, settled into the curve of his neck as if you belonged there. Like a set puzzle piece.

“Don’t fret, love,” he says softly. “This will all be over soon.”

 _Love_. He hadn’t returned the words so plainly before. Nor did he with you. He was never one for spoken sentiment. Not even with Frigga. But he’d be damned if he let you slip away, now that he knew how you felt for him. That it wasn’t merely contempt or mutual lust.

_I love you. I love you, Loki._

He holds you close to him, enough so that you can feel his heart racing against your ear.

_Feel what you do to me, little one. See how you’ve changed the course of my fate. How you’ve altered history._

He stops, lifting a hand from underneath you to knock on a wooden frame. You weakly lift your head as the door opens. A beautiful woman with striking eyes and raven hair stands in the opening.

“Loki,” she starts. “Your eye...”

“I can explain later.” He barges into her room. The smell of fresh cider and polish punches you both upon entry. A shimmer of weaponry catches his eye. A line up of swords cover one end of the room. As if it weren’t sleeping chambers at all.

“Please, keep her here with you,” he instructs, settling you down on an armrest against the bottom of her window. “It’s not safe for her to be alone.”

The woman settles down beside you. Her eyes roam over your skin, over every muddled bruise and pink eroded line. You meld into the cushioning of the lounge, your eye lids fluttering closed.

_Sleep, my pet. Sleep, and this will all be like a dream when next you wake._

“What did you do to her?” She asks before raising, a blade held to his neck.

He glares and pushes the sword slowly down away from his pulse point. “Now isn’t the time for your games, Sif,” he says. “If you can’t stomach helping me, don’t do this for me. Do it for her.”

He shifts away and pulls a blanket over you. You groan in your shallow sleep, but settle in under the warmth of its cover.

“There’s a man in Asgard with my face,” he explains. “He has a death wish on his head that I long to fulfill.”

“Have you made Thor aware of this?”

“I doubt the oaf even realizes the difference,” he mutters.

“Thor is more perspective than you think,” Sif replies.

“Yet he hasn’t the faintest idea that you’re in love with him.”

She glares, distracting herself with the polishing of her blade. “Do you have any idea who this impostor of yours is?”

Loki’s hands clutch into fists. “Regrettably so,” he mutters. “He uses blood magic to cast his illusions. It’s been forbidden on Asgard for centuries but there are still texts detailing its incantations in the library. Under lock and key of course... not that I’ve read them.”

“So your eye...”

“Used to effectively convince my people that I am a half-witt rapist.”

Sif looks at your sleeping form wide-eyed. “Did he...”

“Watch her,” he orders. “Don’t let anyone enter this room. Kill anyone who tries.”

“You have my word,” she says. Her eyes glare as she adds, “Make sure he suffers.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

He leaves the room and charges toward the central wing. Where the Warriors Three would likely be gathering their weapons for the trip to Midgard. He illusions himself in the guise of an old mage, complete with dragging beard and hunched disposition.

How could he have let it slip his mind? The minor indiscretion that had led him here?

When the enemy fire had collided into the ship, he knew a crash was unavoidable. He locked the helm into a forged autopilot and fumbled to the back of the open haul, a torn display of broken metal and smoke. You were lying beneath the rubble, the only thing keeping you safely within the ship. He encased your body with his own, holding you flesh against him. He would suffer the blunt of the impact as the vessel plummeted into the ground.

The front of the ship collapsed in on itself. Smoldering flames rose around you both as Loki struggled to move. But kneeling beside you, he located every wound and brushed a healing hand over your flesh. A hand that itself was battered and broken.

Just beyond the forged opening of the ship, a figure approached. Holding Loki’s daggers in his outstretched hands.

“You survived?” The stranger asked with a laugh. “Barely it would seem...”

His face came into view against the crackling fire.

“Galen,” Loki greeted.

“Oh come now, you know that’s not my name,” he said with a grin. “Don’t you even recognize your old friend?”

“We were never friends, Magnus,” Loki groaned, shifted into a standing position atop wobbly knees. His body shielded you from view. The man reacted by immediately pulling him from the wreckage and out into broad daylight. They stood together, dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, waves crashing below as if waiting anxiously for either of them to jump.

“Did you really think I’d forgive you?” Magnus barked. “After what you did?”

“After what I did...,” Loki muttered. “I think time has twisted your memory a bit in the wrong direction.”

Magnus grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his face forward. He was vulnerable, arms broken and bent from the crash. He could heal, but not that quickly. He would need time. But still he thrashed against him.

“I just need to borrow something,” Magnus whispered before pushing the tip of his dagger into his eye socket, retrieving the needed token with a drag and a flick of his wrist. Loki’s scream echoed off the cliffs, muted as the waves rose up with a thunderous crash into the rocky surface.

Magnus dangled his eye from the tendrils of connective tissue, dropping it into his eagerly awaiting mouth. As he swallowed, the guise of Galen rippled off his body like a discarded coat. Replaced by Loki’s smirking complexion.

“This will do nicely,” he said before peering back into the ship. “Do you think she’ll notice the difference?”

“Don’t you touch her!” He screamed, blood trickling down like tears from the empty hole in his face.

“Oh I won’t.” Magnus lifted Loki’s body up over the edge of the cliff. “You will.”

He plummeted into the awaiting waves as Magnus released his limp body from his grasp. The salty waters burned his new wound upon contact. His mouth opened on instinct, swallowing a lung full. He felt his body sinking, willing him to submit to the siren’s kiss. To his overdue death.

_No. Not yet._

He kicked against the riptide and propelled himself to the surface, gasping for air as the frothy crests collided into him. The top of the cliff felt impossibly out of reach but he knew the landscape of Asgard better than his would-be-murderer needed to believe. He knew every hidden enclave. Every forgotten staircase craved into the hillside. Every passage to another realm.

He dragged himself onto the small patch of sand, lying still to catch his breath. He worked quickly to heal his twisted arms first, enough so that flexing his hand didn’t feel as if his fingers might snap off. He stood, clutching onto the face of the cliff until he found the narrow opening that lead up, back to the surface level of Asgard.

As he climbed the cobbled steps, forged into the stone itself, he meddled over his plan. He needed a disguise that would make it easy to stay close to you but not alarm Magnus. He masked himself under the appearance of a maid, and chose a name he hopen you’d recognize. How attentive you’d be to his tales of old. Of a failed proposal. Of Sigyn. 

He hoped it would tip you off to his true identity. But you hadn’t been so perceptive, clouded by his apparent rejection.

And when his imposter came to you that night, Loki’s disguise proved dangerously too effective. When Fandral cornered him in the hallway en route to your chambers. Drunk and in need of a willing maiden to warm his bed. 

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Fandral slurred, his hand held over the maid’s shoulder. 

Beautiful? Loki had chosen a nondescript maid he thought plain, undesirable. For the very reason of anonymity amongst deprived Asgardian men. Clearly his judgment of beauty had changed as of late. 

“You’d look even more beautiful in my bed,” he offered, leaning towards him in an attempt to steal a kiss from the fair maiden. Though fair she may appear, she was far from a simple maiden.

“My mistress calls for me,” Loki groaned, pushing off of him. “I must be going.”

“There’s no rush, beautiful. Just stay a little while.”

Loki bit his tongue and held back the urge to roll his eyes when Fandral’s hands slithered up to caress his chest. Loki’s hand immediately went to his throat.

“Fandral, I swear to you you will regret any further action,” he said in a masculine voice.

A drunk Fandral stumbled backward, blinking at the maid with widened eyes. Surely he was just too intoxicated to see straight. To comprehend properly. Reality was slipping from his grasp. 

Loki took advantage of his perplexed state and scurried off toward your bed chamber.

But he was still too late. The second he saw your huddled, naked form against the bed, the demons came out to play, begging for release. Begging for a chance to kill again. It’d been so long since he saw the life drain from someone’s eyes. How he relished in the sensation of dominance, of pure superiority. Cyrus had been a quick kill, hardly satisfying.

_No, this needs to be unique._

And now, standing in front of the Warriors Three, his brother and his clone, the rage surged brand new through his veins, like a prototyped life source. Pushing the old tarnished blood out of the way to make room.

He knew he wouldn’t fail you again. He wouldn’t leave until Magnus’s blood was splattered against his robes. Until he made a painting of his remains. Until Magnus was begging for mercy, something he’d never offer.

He could think of a million ways to end his life. Though it was unclear which would give him the most pleasure.

You’d both have your vengeance. That, he was sure of.


	28. III. Faded

As you slept, you dreamt of him. Of his arms wrapped protectively around you, of his tears on your cheeks. How it felt as if he might break without your arms held against his back. As if you both might break. It was the first time you felt that he truly cared for you. That you were truly, deeply loved. If that were the word for it. Loki himself said he was incapable of loving another person. And maybe he still believed that. But you had felt it as he held you in that bath. As he washed away your pain and took it into himself.

The sound of sharpening blades startles you awake. You take in your surroundings slowly until your eyes settle onto a woman, dressed in skirted armor. The woman from earlier... but you hadn’t caught her name.

She notices you staring and drops the blade onto her work bench.

“Where’s Loki?” You ask, sitting up in the lounge. You blink as you recall small fragments from your reunion.

“I think you know where he is,” she replies. “He won’t be back until he’s killed that man.”

You rise and charge toward the door but she wedges herself between you and your potential escape.

“I promised him,” she says.

“He breaks promises on the hour,” you mutter. “Please, I can’t let Loki face him alone.”

“He is more than capable of handling himself.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” you mutter. Your hands tremble at the thought of holding your grip around his throat, causing his eyes to bulge. Loki didn’t deserve the honor of taking his life. You did.

“I’m sorry,” she replies. “But I have to keep you safe.”

“You can’t just keep me locked in here...”

“I have to.” She settles back down onto the bench, continuing to busy herself mindlessly with her swords.

You collapse at the foot of the door. “Please,” you plead. “You have no idea what it’s like...”

The face of your lover was twisted over the recollection of the rape. To see his face held stretched over the monster who harmed you...it was maddening. To love someone so deeply and hate them all the same.

Her eyes soften and she kneels down beside you. “I can’t possibly understand how you feel,” she says. “But I know what it’s like to want something so badly... and yet be so far from it.”

You meet her gaze. Was it your need for revenge you both spoke of... or was it love?

“Then you know I can’t stay here.”

You reach for the handle of the door when it turns on its own. The two of you stumble away from the entry way. The woman pushes you behind her as she aims her weapon toward the intruder.

“State your business!” She commands as the figure slowly emerges into view.

“Thor,” she breathes a sigh of relief.

“Lady Sif,” he greets. “We have need of you in the central wing.”

You grab her arm. “We can’t be sure that’s really him,” you warn. Your lip quivers as you wander over the possibility that it could be your rapist. Standing there in the doorway. As if he were free from sin. Who else might he pretend to be? You take a startled step back away from the woman.

“Lady Sif,” he says again and his eyes shift over you.

Without a second thought, you push past her and swing your fist into his jaw. The impact does more damage to your hand than to the side of his face. You pull away, shaking the pain away with a whimper.

“Well ok then...Don’t come with me,” Thor says, hand held to the point of contact.

“We can’t be certain who anyone is at the moment,” Sif explains, muffling laughter behind a clinched fist.

Thor adjusts his jaw back and forth with a wiggle. “Well, if it’s illusions you speak of, that’s exactly the reason I’ve came here.”

“So you know then,” you reply slowly, hand still writhing with residual throbbing pain.

He turns to you. “I know we have a situation with my brother.”

“You don’t say...” Sif mutters. “What kind of situation?”

You both follow him cautiously out of the room. You settle into Sif’s shadow, a few paces behind them both. You are still hesitant to trust either of them completely until your doubts are nullified.

You come upon an expansive room serving as the apex between buildings. Beneath the central pillars is a captive, retrained in several winding paths of rope.

One eye looks up at Sif. “Can you not do one thing as I ask?” He snarls. He tilts his head to peer around her, meeting your gaze. “You two have more in common than I thought.”

You push past your temporary shield of feminine brawn.

“Why is he tied up?”

As you move forward you realize there is another chair set behind him, with Loki’s duplicate hunched over. He is badly bloodied, a crimson mask running down his parted lips. You hesitate to move any closer, not wanting to be near the imposter anymore than you have to be. If you have to smell his breath... if you have to hear his voice...

“We can’t be sure he is who is says he is,” the dark-haired man explains. You meet his gaze and he nods, courtly.

Loki’s focus remains locked upon you and he smiles weakly. “Hello, pet.”

You inch closer.

“Looks like you got a few good punches in before they stopped you,” you remark.

He chuckles. “I was just saving him for you to finish off.”

“How sweet...,” you mutter and turn to Thor adding, “This is your brother. Can’t you see that? Untie him.”

Thor looks at you with a wide gaze when a roar of laughter pulls you away from Loki. The man behind him stirs into consciousness through his arrogant heckling. He shifts his head to look back at the group.

“Are you really going to believe I’d be so weak as to let an intruder gauge my eye out?” He mocks. “Really, brother...”

You clench your shaking hands into fists. “You did this to him...” You move further but Sif holds you back, shaking her head.

The flirtatious blonde from the night before runs into the room, halting suddenly to catch his breath.

“Fandral,” Loki greets. “Did you find the ingredients as I asked for them?”

He nods in response. “Had to bribe a few of the kitchen maids. Not like I minded.” He smirks.

“So we are poisoning him now?” The large red haired man comments. “And how exactly did he convince you to be his errand boy?”

“Let’s not discuss the finer details, Volstagg...” His face twists as if in recall. He places a set of vials and sprigs of herbs on a table. Loki begins instructing him on what amounts of each item to mix together. Every ingredient sounds Latin, like a concoction of letters you would never hope to pronounce. You watch him carefully as he works, his hand moving methodically over each item until the final pinch of feathered leaves is added.

“Make him drink it.” Loki’s final instruction.

Fandral lifts the glass to the imposter’s lips, as he spits out clots of leftover blood from his mouth.

“I won’t drink that muck,” he spats. “Thor, untie me and let me kill this vermin.”

Thor’s eyes narrow. He simply nods at Fandral, ordering him to continue. And he does, forcing the potion down his throat. He chokes as the liquid pours down, pulling more blood with it.

Suddenly, his whole body begins convulsing. The chair beneath him shakes from the vibrations and knocks over. His body tumbles to the ground as he quivers, foaming at the mouth like a rabid animal. And _pop_. His mouth opens and a round object rolls out over the floor. Fandral reaches down for it, pulling it from the spew of milky bile. He holds it up to the light and grimaces.

“It’s... an eye,” he says before the convulsions cease. The illusion fades, rippling off his body, replacing it with the image of a frail young man. His hair is a mangled mess of brown, his structure scrawny and malformed, and his own eyes hollow and dead.

“Who are you?” Thor questions, voice booming off the columns surrounding you.

The man’s head twists upward off the tiled floor. A string of vomit attaches him to the marble. “You don’t recognize me either?” His voice is torn, muffled, as if spoken underwater.

Thor steps closer, looming over the man’s huddled form on the ground. “Loki, do you know this man?” He asks.

The larger man, Volstagg, is already working to remove the ropes from around the real Loki. Once he is released, he massages his wrists and stands beside his brother.

“He may not look the same, but this is Magnus,” he explains. He turns to you and adds. “Or Galen, as you know him.”

You look at him, eyes burning with the need to blink but too frightened to lose sight for even a moment. “Galen...?” You mutter. “How is that possible?” You look at the man laid out in front of you. He hardly even resembles the man who had brought you back to life. This is a man thrown to the wayside. A man you would have easily forgotten, had he not...

Loki snatches his lost eye from Fandral’s grasp. He drops it into one of the now empty vials and seals it shut. “His magic works a little differently than mine,” he explains. “Regrettably, mine is much more finite... if not all together permeable.”

Your eyes well up with unwanted tears. “Galen...” He turns to look up at you. “Why?” You ask, your lips trembling. “Why would you do this?”

You had once been so willing to allow Galen in your bed that night, in a scheme to free Loki from Sakaar’s prison. In pure desperation to save him. But had there been more to it? Hadn’t you felt something from the kindness he had shown you? Hadn’t you come so close, of your own desire, to sleeping with him? And now, you could hardly look at him.

“Why?” he mocks in a growl. “Why don’t you ask him? He created this monster.”

You turn to Loki. “What is he talking about?”

“It’s your turn to come clean,” Galen adds with a feral smile. “Tell her, my prince. Tell her about Sigyn.”

 _Sigyn_. There was that name again. Haunting you like the memoir of a lost love.

Loki’s gaze holds steady to the floor.

“Now is not the time for confessions,” he mutters, eye shifting to the rest of the group.

“And what would you have us do with him?” The unnamed man asks, nodding his head to Galen’s crippled form.

“Lock him up, Hogun,” Thor orders. “We will decide fair judgment tomorrow.”

Tomorrow... so your return to Earth would have to wait, for at least another day.

“Fair judgment...” Loki laughs. “There will be no fair judgment. You think of me as the villain but what he’s done....I wouldn’t have been prepared to do. Death is the only judgement he deserves.”

“Tomorrow,” Thor repeats, glaring.

The three men gather up Galen from the floor and drag him out into the bright sunlight beyond. To a jail cell far more industrial than those of Sakaar, you hoped.

“I’ll send for healers...” Sif begins to say.

“No!” Loki clutches the vial of his severed vision. “It won’t be necessary.”

Loki reaches out for your hand but you jerk away, on instinct. Everything had slowly sunk in, the memories of last night locked into place. His hands on you. Him, inside of you.

It wasn’t Loki but it was his face you’d seen through it all. You were afraid of him without truly meaning to be.

His gaze holds steady to you, his mind seeming to race over what words to say to heal your wounds.

“Let me explain this to you,” he whispers. “Privately.”

He takes your hand forcefully and pulls you from the room. Leaving Sif and Thor, standing in the doorway, looking onward. As if to race after you, as if to stop him. But they are frozen together in a space between time and reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Galentines Day, lovelies :) hope this chapter finds you well!


	29. III. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine’s Day! I must say that I truly love each and every one of your comments :) I hope you are able to spend this special day with someone you love, whether a friend, a family member, or a lover ;) Don’t forget how important love is and show those you care about that you love them everyday (not just today) 
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

Loki leads you through the palace, past Asgardians taking morning strolls. Upon seeing Loki, they stop to stare. Their eyes wandering down from his wound to where you were both connected, hand in hand. Their whispers surround you, circling inside your head like endless mockery.

Loki’s hold on your hand tightens as he pulls you to walk beside him, rather than behind in his shadow.

“Stay close to me,” he whispers.

He stops at the end of the hallway and wide, encompassing doors push open to reveal his chambers. Your vision made reality. The drapery even sways against the morning breeze just as you remember.

Before moving any further, he sets the macabre vial into a cabinet, locking it with a key that he quickly shoves into his pocket.

“Care for a drink?” He asks, separating from you to walk toward what looks like a bar, a set of amber bottles lined up against the counter.

_Drinking, this early in the day?_

Your expression must have given away your doubts as he adds, “Nothing to weaken your inhibition.”

Regardless, you shake your head and settle in against the velvet of his bed as he busies himself, preparing the libation. Your mind races over everything you need to ask him. Over every new chapter that had been opened in the last hour. Galen. How did Loki know him? And how could he have guised himself so effectively as your lover that you’d...

You shudder and pull your knees up onto the bed, settling down against the curve of your legs.

“Loki, how did you...” you start to say as he approaches you. He sits beside you on the bed, drink in hand.

“No,” he says, his hand slides over yours. “Let’s not speak of it.”

“We will,” you command. “I’m tired of your secrets, Loki. Weren’t we a team once, on Sakaar? Weren’t we...” Your words trail off as you meet his gaze, torn between anger and regret.

His hand lifts to slide over your forehead, pushing back your hair. “I don’t want to speak of it,” he repeats. “I’d rather show you.”

You feel him pry into your mind, the tendrils of his magic wrapping around your central nervous system, flaring and pulsing. He pushes in over your vision until the room blurs out of focus.

You blink and the world around you is brand new. You are still in Asgard, but it is already nightfall. And you are in an alleyway, wet and glistening from a recent rain storm, still trickling down from the heavens. You reach a hand out to catch the raindrops in your open palm, but the water phases right through you.

The sound of giggling averts your attention. In the sanctity of the dark alley, beyond the glow of moonlight and the falling rain, two lovers are caught in an embrace. They are breathless, fresh from a session of kissing evident by their flushed cheeks and swollen lips. The woman leans against the cobbled wall. The man pins her in.

You slowly approach them.

“Hello... can you see me?” You reach out your hand to tap the man’s shoulder but as he moves, your hand to falls right through him. Through his dark hair. Through his golden armor. And as he turns his head, his bright smile catches you off guard. A young version of the God of Mischief standing in front of you. Full of innocence and promise. As if the world had not yet cast him into the darkness he now called home. He looked so alive.

You are a ghost within Loki’s memory.

“I have to get home,” the girl protests, but she is smiling, clinging to his shoulders.

“What’s the rush?” He asks, lips trailing down her neck. She sighs into him.

You feel a pang of jealousy like a new stab wound within your chest. But you also feel his longing, his desire for her. You feel flushed and wanton. You touch your fingers to your lips. They tingle as if you were the one he’d been kissing.

“We can’t keep doing this.” She pushes against his chest. “I’ll be married in another month.”

 _Married_? If this is really Sigyn, hadn’t Loki told you that he had been engaged to her? Not to someone else...

“That won’t be a problem,” he says into her neck. “I’ve asked my father to end your engagement.”

“What? How can you...?”

“So that we can be married. So we can be together.”

He had you believe it had been arranged against his will. That his father had forced his hand. But he had set it into motion. He wanted it. He loved her.

As if a rug had been pulled from under your feet, the scene before you vanishes and is replaced by another. It is afternoon, and you are standing amongst a massive crowd in the court yard behind the palace. Beside you is Galen, or the man you now know as Magnus, looking as if he might break off from the seams. As if he might tear through the crowd toward the balcony ahead. You stumble away as fear washes over you. But he can’t see you. He can’t touch you. Locked in the past.

Loki is standing on the balcony with his arm around Sigyn, his brother and an unknown couple beside him. The older man steps forward. He wears a patch over eye. His father? _You match him now._

“Asgard!” He calls in a booming voice. “Today it is with great pride that I announce the engagement of my youngest son, Loki, to the fair Lady Sigyn.”

The woman beside him is beaming. His mother, Frigga?

Loki pulls Sigyn in for a kiss, one the crowd reacts to with a roar of applause. She blushes but smiles all the same.

_You look so happy, Loki. Do you ever look this way when you think of me? Could I ever make you this happy?_

You can barely focus your attention on the balcony with Magnus beside you. His anger has multiplied, steaming off of his body as his fists shake at his sides. He must have been the one previously engaged to Sigyn, before Loki stole her away. Did he know? Did he know what chain of events he had just set into motion?

Again, your vision shifts and you stand at the edge of a broken crystalline bridge, constructed from the very fabric of a prism. Loki’s father, the figure head of Asgard, stands at the edge, holding onto Thor’s robes. As you move forward, you see that Thor’s grip is held fast onto his brother, his legs adrift against the empty void of space. Loki releases his hand, falling into the spiraling chaos below, his brother screaming his name.

But before you can react, you feel your body being pulled away, out of the memory.

“No, wait!” You shout over the roar of images colliding into view, fighting for dominance. Magnus with Sigyn. Loki and Magnus. Fists flying, then swords. Then blood. Then a woman’s scream. The booming voice of his father again. What was he saying?

You feel the rush of his emotions overwhelm you. You feel every pain, every heartache, every restless night. But most of all, you feel his rage. As if being inside his mind had transferred all of that energy through you. Infecting you.

When you open your eyes, you’ve returned to the present. And you have been crying.

Loki catches a stray tear on the crook of his finger.

“What happened to her?” You ask. “What happened to Sigyn?”

“All of Asgard thought me dead that day,” he explains. “She... hearing the news, she...”

“She killed herself,” you answer for him, eyes widening with each word spoken.

“When I was brought back to Asgard, after what happened in Midgard, I was marketed a prisoner, a shame to my family. But I had enough time to ask what had become of her. Hoping she had married. That she had continued to live her life. Happily.”

“I imagine Magnus blamed you for her death.”

He nods.

“You told me once that you were incapable of love,” you say, wiping your eyes. “You’re a liar.”

He stares at you, hand inching around your neck. You pull away and settle back against his bed.

“I didn’t lie,” he replies, lying down beside you, head propped up against his fist.

“I felt it, Loki.” You are breathing heavily, your voice barely audible over the beating of your heart. Still coming down off the strange adrenaline rush you’d felt from his emotions coursing through you.

“I was young. Naive,” he says. “No one truly knows what love is at that age. Just that being with someone makes you happy.”

“She made you happy,” you respond. “I’ve never seen you that happy before...”

“Look at me,” he orders. “Shall I show you my memory of our first night together, or of our last?”

You turn to face him. But as you search his expression, you can only see his anger, pooling over his emerald eye. His aggression.

You see your rapist.

You fumble away from him, tucking yourself into the corner of the bed, nestling into the pillows.

“I can’t...” you mutter. “Please, I can’t.” A line of tears make trails down your cheeks. You bury your face in your hands.

He reaches out for you.

“Please... don’t.”

He pulls his hand away and settles in beside you. He mimics the curve of your body, leaving space between you, but not enough that you can’t feel the chill of his skin seeping into your own flesh.

You clutch onto the pillow as you sense his hand hovering over your hips, moving slowly up to your shoulder. He is testing the waters. Seeing how far he can go. His hand finally settles into your hair, playing with ringlets between his fingers. But even that causes you to quiver in fear. A part of you yearned so fervently for his touch. For his hands to uncover every inch of your body. Every part of you he didn’t touch that night.

But you could hardly even look at him now.

“Would you do anything for me?” You ask.

“Define anything,” he replies softly.

“I want something, but I can’t do it alone.”

“Tell me, pet.”

“I want him dead,” you answer. “I want to kill Galen.”


	30. III. Ruin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt a bit generous today :) here is another chapter for you all, lovelies! Shall our heroine get the revenge she so desperately seeks? Let’s find out...

You leave under the cover of nightfall, and stolen, hooded cloaks. Loki leads you both to the holding cells, hidden beneath the palace. The whole walk there, you push down thoughts of hesitation. Your conscience would need to be silent, just for tonight.

You needed him dead if you ever wished to move past what he had done to you. What he had taken from you. If a future were ever going to be possible between you and Loki, you needed to erase him from existence and start again.

Though you’d never thought of actually killing someone before tonight.

The prison is like a museum of miscreants, all lined up behind illuminated glass. Some are asleep in their cells, while others are wide-awake, pounding their fists against the clear wall as you walk by. Humanoid beings and monstrous creatures staring at you as if they could kill you or devour you whole.

A creature licks its lips at you, triggering Loki to pull you closer.

You approach Magnus’s cell, where he sits nestled in the corner, alone. Loki waves an object over the surface of the glass and pulls you both through it, as if it were made of water. You come through on the other side, the glow of the filmed cage casts the rest of the jail block in an amber hue.

Magnus lifts his head from his knees.

“I was wondering when I might see you two again,” he says with a small smile. “Have you come to say good bye?”

Loki steps back, giving you the reigns. Tonight is about you. And he would let you have anything you desired, if only you would take it for yourself.

“How did you get to Sakaar?” You ask, looming over him.

He tilts his head back, resting it against the wall. “So you want my life story now?” He laughs. “Before you kill me?”

You step closer. “Who else is going to listen to you in your final moments?” You ask. “Do you want to die alone, in silence? Or would you prefer to air your sins?”

Loki laughs lightly behind you. As if out of pride. Or amusement.

Magnus blinks at you, his gaze rolling over your body. “I truly wanted you,” he confesses. “I wanted something that could be mine. To take something from him like he took from me. And you...” He smirks. “You wanted me.”

You step back. “I used you,” you reply. “And you used me. I was a vessel for your revenge.”

“And quite the vessel you are...”

Loki moves out of your shadow, stepping into view. “Answer her questions quickly. I’d like to be done with this.”

Magnus chuckles and raises slowly to his feet, leaning against the wall. “You asked about Sakaar, right? I was banished from Asgard,” he explains. “For practicing a forbidden magic. Thrown out into the bifrost. It didn’t hold me for long. And I landed on Sakaar. Just like you did.”

You picture Loki’s eye rolling out of his mouth. You swallow hard, trying to will the beating of your heart to slow down enough to appear confident, intimidating.

“And the book?”

“Blood magic sometimes calls for items belonging to the person you want to harm, or the person you want to emulate. The book was enough to bring you to me but I needed more...” He taps his eye toward Loki. “What’s the world look like through a singular lens?”

“Did you kill the man, the healer, so you could steal his face?” You ask, drawing his attention back to you.

“He was close to the Grandmaster, a prized healer from another realm. And with my magic, I could heal just as effectively, if not better,” he explains. “The way he looked at me when I tore his heart from his battered rib cage... he couldn't heal that. No, no he couldn’t.”

You start to tremble, your knees buckling together. There is a hunger inside of you, screaming to be let loose. You could taste it on your tongue, like sweet temptation pulling you in. Sweeter than lust, darker than your fear. And yet, you are still afraid. You are terrified to let it in.

You look back at Loki, your pain painted over your face like a mask of terror and his arms snake around you. His breath washes over your neck and you inhale and exhale in time with him, your chest raising and falling as his hands crawl down to your hips. His grip tightens there. His heart is pounding in against your back as he pulls you flesh to his body.

“What do you want?” He whispers, his voice a liquid seduction. “Tell me what you want.”

You look at Magnus, who is smiling at you in a way that only encourages you further. You remember his face as he raped you, the smug satisfaction he wore.

You imagine him killing the healer, his still beating heart held in his hand.

And you imagine Sigyn. Caught in the middle of a war between two sorcerers. Throwing herself from a balcony in despair.

“I want it,” you whisper back. “I want to do it.”

Loki pushes the dagger into your hand. His grip holds steady over it, guiding your arm up to take aim. His touch sends electricity through you, small sparks pulsing down to your fingertips, making contact with the blade.

He kisses your neck, trailing up to suckle your ear before whispering, “Do it. Kill him.”

The hunger boils over, bubbling to the surface until you can’t ignore it. And you drive the blade into Magnus’s throat. He doesn’t even attempt to resist. As if he has accepted death by your hands. Smiling at you. A gush of blood floods from the wound as you pull back. A waterfall of his remaining life.

And instantly, a force pulses through you from the source of the wound, inching into your skin. A warmth that continued to spread until you are gasping for air between moans of pleasure that radiated from within. Like a maddening disease that felt as good as Loki’s sweet caress against your back.

Magnus pushes into the wall, reaching up to wrap his hands desperately around his new mouth. And he laughs. The sound gargling as the blood pours onto his tongue. He slumps down to the floor, gazing up at you with wide bulging eyes before he takes his final gasping breaths.

“Bravo,” he struggles to mouth. His chest now ordained with a crimson macabre version of a bib. His eyes stay open as his hands fall, empty at his sides.

You drop the dagger, splattering his blood onto your feet. Your hands are trembling. But not from terror, nor regret.

But from the surge of power coursing through ever atom within your fragile form. Every nerve singing in triumph. Calling for another form of release.

You spin around to face Loki and capture his face in your hands, stepping onto tiptoes to kiss him roughly. Your lips collide so violently they may bruise, pushing past all prior reservation. You need him. Need the taste of his mouth, need his hands on your body. Need him inside you.

He pushes you into the wall, his own vigor just as desperate as your own.

You had thought of making love to him, in a way that was tender and endearing, a physical manifestation of your confession. But now wasn’t the time for that. Now you wanted...

“Fuck me,” you breathe into his lips. “Fuck me now.” A command. An order. A lust filled desire.

He hikes your leg up, pulling the material of your skirt with it, until he finds the soaked fabric of your panties and pulls them to the side. His fingers glide over your slick folds. You should feel ashamed that you are already so turned on, already throbbing.

But you feel so satisfied.

You are a monster. Just like him.

He looks at you with a darkened gaze, fervent with his own lust and violent hunger to fuck. To fuck you over the corpse of the man who violated you. You want to show him who truly owned you. Who your body has always belonged to.

All sense of reason dead like the man at your feet. Your soul torn in two from the crime you had just committed.

His fingers slide inside, a thumb pressed to your clit. You pull at his hair, forcing him to look up at you. You kiss him again, biting his lip until you taste his blood in your mouth.

“Take it,” he moans against your lips. “Take what you want.”

You reach for his hard cock buried within the material of his pants. There isn’t time to undress, as you push his pants down enough to free him. You guide him slowly inside of your wet opening with a gasp that quickly morphs into a satiated moan. As he fills you, the power seeps from you like your glistening nectar, pooling into him through his hardened sex.

He grabs your legs and pulls them up against him as he thrust into you with a renewed intensity. His eyes are narrowed, his pupils dilated like an animal in heat. Wanting, needing. You grip into his back, nails digging into him through the fabric of his shirt. You kiss and fuck the pain away. Letting it be a lost memory in time.

Magnus was no longer the man who raped you. He was the man you had killed.

You stare off out of the cell, the open window a portal for the other prisoners to see. It rouses you more, clasping at the back of his neck.

“They are all watching you fuck me,” you moan against him. A naughty grin pulls over your lips. Voyeurism had become an unlikely trend for these moments with Loki. When you didn’t care who lay witness. You just needed to feel whole again.

“My little slut,” he growls with a smirk. “You always love an audience.”

You reach up your hand, pushing against the stone wall for balance as he drives into your dripping cunt, his balls slapping against you.

He grabs your thighs and pulls you away, throwing you against the hard ground. He pulls off his pants and shirt, leaving him completely disrobed for you to marvel at his nakedness. He lifts you by the hips so you are arched into him and plunges back into your eagerly awaiting mound once again, taking a wanton gasp from your lips. You search for his hand in desperation, pulling it up to your throat, urging him to chock you. His eye widens before he smirks greedily and tightens his grip around your slender neck. You throw your head back as he does, running your hands down his chest with a scratch. Leaving your mark there.

You mouth a curse as you near completion.

“Cum for me,” he commands, his finger immediately going to your clit, rubbing circles into the sensitive flesh. “Cum for me, my dirty girl.”

And as always, you follow his order, cumming against his cock. His grip releases from your throat and you gasp out a moan. He pulls out of you and aims his cock toward your open chest, eagerly awaiting his release. You push your breasts together as his seed flows over you, in long pumps of milky honey. The tip of his cock still wet with the remains.

You lunge at him, eagerly licking him clean. He reaches forward and pushes his fingers against your chin, closing your mouth.

“Swallow it,” he orders. And in one gulp, the warm evidence of his pleasure runs down your throat. You close your eyes and sit against the back of your legs, propped up on your knees. Savoring every last drop.

“I’ve ruined you,” Loki growls, his fingers tracing along the sticky remnants on your breasts, already drying against your skin. “You were so innocent when we met. So pure. Now... now you’ve killed a man.”

As if released from your trace, your eye bolt open in horror. Magnus’s body lie not far beside you. You pull away and look up at Loki.

Who returns your gaze with two glimmering emerald eyes.

You reach up your fingertips to touch his face.

“Loki... your eye. It’s...”

He blinks slowly and reaches up to hold his hand over yours. Had he created an illusion? Had he healed himself? But his expression twists until all lingering remains of his lust are gone, replaced by something else. Something close to shock.

And as he looks at you, it’s as if he is unsure how to explain the return of his sight.

He looks at you as if you are responsible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get a lot of comments asking how I post so often. I’m currently working on chapter 37. I always try to be quite a few chapters ahead of posting daily - breaks between parts of the story help as well. But I enjoy writing a chapter a day to keep the creativity flowing. I’ve tapped into a fountain of inspiration. And it’s truly liberating to finally be writing again after so long.


	31. III. Moonlight

“Blood magic?” You shutter. “You think I... performed blood magic?”

You had dressed in a haste, hiding your gaze from the prisoners who seemed more than thrilled to have witnessed murder and sex, both in one evening. They all press against the glass of their cells as you walk by.

Loki paces ahead of you, practically running back to his chambers.

“There isn’t any other explanation for it,” he replies. “It’s not like I could have grown back my eye... I’m good but I have my limits.”

“That’s just not possible,” you retort. “I’m mortal. I don’t have any...”

You stop as Loki opens the door to his chamber and drops down to his knees to unlock the cabinet. Reaching in, he pulls out the vial, holding it up against the moonlight.

It is empty.

“Taking a life for revenge is the strongest incantation for blood magic,” he says. “You had every ingredient you needed within you. Rage, pain...” his fingers trail down the front of your dress. “Insatiable lust. It was all evidence that you possessed the potential to harness it. I just gave you a push. I didn’t think it would actually work...”

“You? You did this?”

“No, as I said, I gave you a push.”

“Same thing...” you mutter. “I wouldn’t have done anything if you hadn’t used your voodoo on me.”

He raises an intrigued eyebrow. “Voodoo?”

“Never mind... I don’t want any part of your magic.”

He pulls you stubbornly into his arms. “Isn’t this a good thing?” He asks. “Unless you have a kink for men with eye patches...”

“Shut up.” You push him away, pulling your dress up over your head.

“Can’t say I don’t like where this is going, kitten,” he replies with a smirk. “But shouldn’t you be tired? Did his death satisfy you so much that your body still craves more of me?”

You shiver at the thought. That you’d killed him. That you’d shoved the dagger into his throat. That you’d seen the life drain from his eyes.

But you remember how ready you’d been when Loki slide inside of you then.

_You were so wet._

You shake your head. “I want to rinse off,” you reply, harshly. “Where’s your bath?”

Without warning, he lifts you into his arms and carries you toward what you had assumed to be a simple balcony. You protest, smacking his chest. You’d had enough of your voyeuristic tendencies for one evening. You didn’t need all of Asgard seeing you stark naked in the arms of their fallen prince. But as you near the open air patio, you see the familiar shimmer of a glamour cast over the expanse of the structure. You could see Asgard, but Asgard could not see you.

A bath lines the full expanse of the railing, an infinity pool that bleeds into the ocean beyond. You could use the escape it provided, the moment of distraction from the crime you just committed.

Tonight, you had killed a man.

He deserved it, you remind yourself. He had to die, you insist against the gnawing guilt clawing up over your heart.

 _Murderer_.

The voice in your head is no longer your own. It’s deep and wild as it taints you.

 _Murderer_.

You shiver against Loki as he walks up the small steps and enters the bath fully clothed, settling you into the warm embrace of the water. You push away, leaning in against the edge of the pool, letting your body float out behind you. The night sky is scattered with hundreds of stars above you, new constellations you never imagined. The city below you is peaceful, save for the whistle of the trees in the midnight breeze. It pulls up the scent of flowers similar to the pale jasmine that grew outside your apartment window. A reminder of home.

“It’s beautiful,” you hum against your arms.

You feel his hand run over the back of your floating thighs, up over the curve of your rear, settling there as he moves nearer.

“When I was a child, I’d stand outside my window every night and count the stars,” he says as he comes around behind you. His fingers trails up your back before he wraps the length of his arms around your shoulders. “I tried to name them from my lessons, for practice. You see, all of these stars are believed to be our ancestors, gone before us. Watching us from Valhalla.”

“Do you believe that?”

His lips rest against the part of your hair as he softly kisses you.

“Look, up there.” He pulls your chin higher and points to the right of the sky. “The set of five stars, held to a ruby center. That is Borr, our grandfather.”

He moves his hands again. “And there behind him, his wife, our grandmother, Bestla.”

You reach out to his extended hand, moving his aim to the right. “What’s that one there?”

His finger retracts before his whole arm drops to loop back around you. “Frigga’s constellation... I hadn’t time to memorize it.”

You tighten the grip on his arms when a shimmer over the darkness catches your eye. “Look, Loki!” You exclaim. “A shooting star! Make a wish.”

You watch the burning ember dart across the night sky, leaving a misted trail behind as it vanishes into the void of space.

You close your eyes tightly. A childish tradition. Perhaps a foreign custom to Loki on Asgard. But you follow the need to dream, to hope, to feel. In that moment, you channel every desire into that singular falling star, as if it could deliver on its promises.

Once you are satisfied with your wish, you spin around to face Loki. You smile brightly before he captures you in a soft, tender kiss. You lean back against the railing, holding his head between your hands as you open your mouth enough to let him in. His hands curve up your hips, over your navel, before tracing the swell of your breasts.

“I’ve made my wish already,” he whispers into your mouth.

You lift your finger to his lips to silence him. “You can’t tell me,” you say with a small smile. “Or else it won’t come true.”

As he smiles down at you, fingers tracing your rosy cheeks, you see a glimmer of something new in his emerald eyes. Something you thought only existing within his memories. The purity he had lost with Sigyn.

He looks happy.

You press your breasts against his chest and lean up to continue your kiss. He sighs into you, hands moving up to massage into your scalp, to play with the length of your hair. His lips continue down your neck, softly returning his mark to your flesh. To remove his imposter’s scars. You gasp as you feel his teeth slightly graze your skin, aroused and tender under his touch. But you course your fingers through his dark mane and pull him down further. His own hands runs down your soft belly before his fingers kiss your entrance beneath the water. He whispers your name, as if for permission. But you part your legs, giving him a firm _yes_.

He pulls you up out of the water and lays you against the edge of the pool, the marbled surface cool against your heated skin. Your wet flesh glistens under the moonlight. He stares down at you with the expression of a man who has never been so captivated by such beauty before. Never felt so enthralled by the look of you, bare and wanton beneath him. You part your knees for him, leaving you vulnerable to his desires.

He leans over you, holding his fingers beneath your chin. “Do you want this?” He asks softly. “Do you want a life with me?”

Your eyes widen and you search each of his emerald gems for deception. But all you can see is something much deeper than that.

You reach up to hold him around his neck.

“More than anything,” you reply.

His kiss moves over the length of your body, touching every mapping of flesh, prickled by the chill of his caress. He sucks on your thigh, pulling a moan from your quivering lips.

“Then stay with me,” he whispers against your mound before kissing you ever so lightly there. “Stay with me here. On Asgard.”

“Yes,” you reply as he enters you, slowly coating his cock with your growing wetness. “Yes!”

He begins to move, rhythmically easing into you. You wrap your legs around his waist to pull him in further, feeling your velvety walls tighten around him. You pull him down to rest against you, allowing his breath to cool your neck on contact. You moan with each thrust, out of desire, out of love for him. His arms reach around, pulling you slightly off the ground so he can hold you close. Your bodies meld into one in a slick embrace.

You feel yourself catapulting toward a second release, the tension building in your loins. You pull back to look at him.

“Make me cum,” you whisper. “I want to cum for you.”

He smiles against your lips, moving slower, until he pulls his cock completely out of you. You groan in frustration, reaching down to provide the needed pressure you desired. To put him back in place. But he catches your hand midway, placing it back around his neck. He runs the tip of his cock over your seeping entrance, sharing your wetness over your folds and sensitive bead. Every now and then, he pushes the head in slightly, only to pull back out again and tease you further. You bite your lip to keep from moaning too loudly.

“Let it out, pet,” he says. “Let out every sweet sound of pleasure. I want to hear how loud I can make you.”

“But they’ll hear...”

“No one will hear you, my sweet little mortal. I get every single one of your beautiful moans all to myself.”

And he plunges back into you, fully, all the way to the hilt. His fingers wrap around your nipple before pinching down, pulling an echoed moan from deep within your throat as you throw your head back against the marble.

“I’m going to...”

“Let it out,” he smirks. “Let it all out.”

“Fuck!” You blot up to grip onto his back. “Fuck, Loki! God!”

You see in his twisted expression that he is close and you allow yourself to cum, together. Falling down against the pool’s edge, he moans your name, his sweet seed filling you up to the brim. The warmth a stark contrast to the chill of his arms, wrapped protectively around you.

He remains inside you as he turns you both onto your side, so you are lying, facing each other. Loki pulls you in to rest against his chest. You stiffen, your heart rate refusing to settle back to normality.

It is the first time he’s held you after sex. The first time he’s allowed you both to relish in the post-climatic high of raging endorphins.

You quickly relax, melting into his arms, breathing in the aroma of your sweat and sex against the distant jasmine. The rhythm of his beating heart threatens to lull you into sleep.

“You should rest,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head as he plays with your tangled hair. “It’s late, kitten.”

“Can’t we stay out here tonight?” You plead. “Just like this?”

“Only for a little while longer.”

You close your eyes and let overdue sleep come to take you away, to a place you hope Loki would be waiting. You pray the voice in your head won’t haunt your mind instead. The hungry clawing growl that pulls up from somewhere deep inside of you. Somewhere hidden. And brings with it a harsher truth.

That you still crave the power you felt surging through your veins that night.


	32. III. Loki’s POV

When your breathing slows, he knows you’ve fallen asleep. He shifts, as not to stir you, carrying you to his bed. And when he wakes the next day, it’s as if he is still dreaming. With your bare form nestled into him, cuddling against him for warmth. Though he would not be able to provide that for you. You smile in your slumber, like the sins of the night prior no longer exist. He laughs to himself, recalling how strange the contrast had been: how in a feral desperation, you’d fucked like animals beside the bloodied corpse of Magnus, only to subsequently make love below the constellations twinkling in the night sky above.

_How amusing..._

Once the lingering haze of your tryst on the balcony washed away, like the vapor of the morning dew, you’d be looking for answers. Looking for an explanation regarding the spell you had unwillingly cast.

The spell he had put into your hands, had willed into your mind.

He will need a distraction when you awake.

He runs his fingertips down the length of your arm, exposed from beneath the silk linens. The light sensation causes you to stir and mumble in your sleep.

“Loki...”

He smiles in response, pulling away to let you rest, for a little while longer. He leaves the room, in search for breakfast to bring you. And perhaps flowers. He wonders what sort of reaction you might delight him with when he returns. Would you be surprised at the off-cue display of affection? Would you be elated? Or would you scold him over having forgotten something essential to a Midgardian meal?

He chuckles to himself at the idea of it. Like a husband doting on his wife, in newly wed bliss. Is that what it was supposed to feel like? He’d always wondered...

_Do you want a life with me?_

Had he really spoken those words to you? They had come from someplace entirely new. It terrified him to think on it. Was he ready to embrace this new found clarity? To embrace his humanity after it had been lost for so long? Or was he luring you helplessly into another trap?

He struts into the kitchen, stealing an apple before emerging into the dining room. He takes a juicy bite from the rosy flesh, catching sight of his brother, seated at the table. Thor looks as if he has been waiting for him, staring pensively into the wooden grain of the furniture. The dark patches under his eyes evidence of a night wrought with insomnia.

“You look tired,” Loki remarks, wiping away the juice from his chin with the back of his hand. “Thoughts of Lady Jane still keeping you up at night? Or do you worry for our father?”

“No, I...” He looks up. “Your eye...”

“Miraculous, isn’t it?” Loki replies with a smug smile, settling into a chair at the other side of the table.

“I take it you slept well, from the energy in your stride,” Thor says, plainly. Loki had half-expected him to be thrilled at his recovery. To rejoice with him in his regained sight. But his expression remains unchanged, stagnant and void.

“Very well,” Loki answers before taking another large bite of the apple. “Best I’ve had in months actually.” And it was. With your arms around him, your skin flesh to his, your soft breathing was a lullaby.

Thor nods, as if deep in thought.

“The guards this morning spoke of how agitated the prisoners seem as of late,” he comments, his voice hollow and low. “They had some interesting stories to tell.” Thor’s gaze slowly lifts to burrow into his brother’s eyes across the table. “Of a man and woman who came sneaking into the dungeons.”

“Oh?”  
  
“Said they killed one of the captives.”

He bites into the apple again, a small spray of juice splattering against the top of the table.

“And they fornicated over his corpse.”

 _Crunch_.

“Wild imaginations...”

“Is that how you regained your eye?” Thor asks. “By killing him?”

“Killing who, brother?”

“Magnus!” Thor shouts, slamming his fists against the surface of the table. The silverware fumbles in response, a spoon sliding to the floor. “You dare to sit there and plainly lie, as you always do? When I know damn well what the truth is.”

Loki drops the half-eaten fruit.

“Well, I can honestly say that this time, I’m not the one wholly responsible.”

“For the killing or the fornicating?”

“Well...” he smirks. “Neither were my idea but I quite enjoyed the latter. Such a minx...”

“Then who shall you have take the blame for his death?” Thor tilts his head low, his eyes widen. “The moral woman...”

Loki glares. “You were going to sentence him to execution anyway. What was the point in delaying the inevitable?”

“She isn’t the hand of justice. She had no right...”

“No right?” Loki spats, his nostrils flaring as he rises from his seat. “Did he have the right to steal into her bed chambers, with my face, and rape her?”

Thor is taken aback, sliding back down into his chair. His face devoid of color. His palms spread wide against the wooden surface.

“I didn’t know...”

“Of course not,” Loki growls. “Too busy with thoughts of your own mortal quim...”

“I didn’t know how you felt for her.” Thor’s lips turn slightly as if to smile, but he resists the urge.

Loki responds with a grimace. “Don’t look at me like that,” he growls. “Don’t you dare even assume to know how I feel.”

“It’s rare to see you like this,” he replies. “Its been too long.” His lips fall fully into a frown, resting his chin against folded hands. “But still... we can’t just let this crime go unpunished.”

“What crime?” Loki screams across the table. “What would you have had her do? Stand by and watch her rapist live the rest of his days in a jail cell? With the lingering possibility that he’d find a way to her again?”

Loki walks around the length of the table. “Do you know how hard it was for her to even look at me after? As if I might do what he had done...”

_Hadn’t you though? Hadn’t you hurt her just as much?_

“Loki...” Thor raises from the table. “The safest place for her to be is Midgard. Before our people hear word of what has happened. To them, Magnus was one of us. Of Asgard. This isn’t her home.”

_It could be._

Thor’s hand clasps his shoulder, resting there for a moment. As if he meant to say more. As if he meant to speak of something else entirely. But his hand falls and he walks past him.

“I’ll have Lady Sif and Volstagg accompany me to Midgard for her safe passage,” he says. “Then we will find father and bring him back to Asgard.”

“Surely you and I could handle the trip alone.”

“You won’t be coming,” Thor orders. “You will stay here.”

“Is this my punishment?” He scowls. “For having a mortal woman love me, while you've lost yours? I’m sure there are plenty of women in Midgard just dying to climb into your bed.”

“Shut up!”

Loki pulls away, studying the torn expression on his brother’s face. Was he wrong in his assumption? Or was he too on the mark?

“I’m sorry, Loki,” Thor sighs, reaching for the door. “My mind has been made up. We will leave tomorrow.”

He turns to look at him one last time before leaving. “I suggest you take the time today to enjoy your last few moments with her.” The door closes behind him, the core of the apple colliding into it, splintering into a million pieces. A slick line marking the point of impact.

He storms back to his chambers, his fists tightly closed to channel his rage. His eyes widen as he realizes you aren’t in bed, where he left you. Briefly, he lets panic take hold. _Thor wouldn’t have... not after he said..._

His eyes dart to the archway of the bath at the sound of the door opening.

You gasp upon seeing him, stumbling back into the sanctuary of the washroom. He catches just a glimpse of your naked form as you briskly hide away.

He chuckles. _Still so bashful, my little mortal. As if I haven’t seen every inch of your body. As if I have touched or tasted you where other men have not..._ His fists release as he moves further into the room.

“Don’t run, kitten,” he calls after you. “Why so shy this morning?”

“I can’t find anything to wear... “

“I don’t see what the problem is.” He smirks, emerging into the bath. You stand against the corner, fumbling to cover yourself with a flimsy towel. He slinks toward you, his fingers pushing away the cloth fabric, running circles over your navel.

Your stomach loudly grumbles, causing your cheeks to flush a bright crimson in embarrassment.

His brows fold.

“Damnit,” he mutters. “I meant to bring you breakfast. I was... distracted.”

“I saw a garden,” you offer meekly. “On the walk into the palace when we arrived. Perhaps we could eat there...”

The thought of leisurely conversing with you over bread and mead makes his heart crawl into his throat. You had cast a spell over him. One beyond blood magic. You controlled every thought, every emotion. It felt as natural as breathing to have you ensnarled around his heart. Though, with Thor soon whisking you off to Midgard, none of it matters. But how could he let that happen?

“Loki.” You tilt his face towards you, pulling him out of his disjointed mind. “You are somewhere else, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m right here.” He forges a smile, kisses your knuckles tenderly. “The garden sounds lovely, pet. I can ask the maids to bring us a prepared picnic. Do you desire sweet or savory?”

“Sweet,” you hum, reaching your arms up around his neck. You lightly touch your lips to his. “Or maybe something salty.”

He chuckles. “Ah my sweet seductress... don’t tempt me. You need to eat.”

He regrettably moves his hand down your body, pulling a garment into existence over your flushed and freckled skin.

“I suppose I do,” You say with a sigh, pulling away from him. “Loki, does this feel... odd to you?”

“Does what feel odd?” He takes you by the hand, leading you from his chambers.

“Being this... close, I suppose,” you mutter.

“I’m not sure what you are insinuating, pet.”

You shake your head. “Never mind,” you whisper in defeat, walking silently beside him as he takes you to the garden.

But he did understand. Your sexual relationship had suddenly collided with tangible emotions. The simple pretext of fucking had turned into something more... complicated.

But he was eager to follow you through the unknown. Weren’t you?


	33. III. Labels

You aren’t alone in your desire to picnic within the gardens. The sun is hidden amongst the misty clouds above, lending to a temperature fit for outdoor lounging. Couples are scattered amongst the floral hedges, on the plush grass and stone benches. Sipping on crystal wine and eating fruit from outstretched hands.

Loki leads you past their wandering eyes to a corner, nestled below a blossoming tree. You settle in against the grass, your skirt fanned out around you. You stare up to watch as petals slowly drift down to coat the earth in a scattered array against the soft breeze. A stray petal lands on your shoulder. You playfully touch the velvet to your lips and breath in the soft aroma. Spring in Asgard was far more beautiful than any you’d seen on Earth. Though, living in a steel jungle lent to a jaded disposition toward the true allure of nature.

A maid approaches with a tray of fruits and a tea kettle. She pours you a cup and you eagerly raise the steam to your lips. Warmth was now a luxury when your lover’s touch was as cool as winter’s chill.

You eye him behind the porcelain mug. He is leaning back against the palms of his hands, looking out at the gardens. You can tell his mind is racing. His shoulders are squared with tension. Was he worried over Magnus, or of the blood magic, as you were? Or something else entirely? You swallow down your paranoia with a gulp of tea and breathe in the floral air.

You wish you could capture this moment in a bottle, to relive when you need an escape from reality. But if you stayed here on Asgard with him, wouldn’t every day be like this?

_But wouldn’t it be sweeter if you weren’t cowering in your mortal skin?_

Your hand trembles.

_Would it not be sweeter if you just let me take control?_

“Loki...”

As he turns to look at you, the voice dissipates, running off your shoulders like the falling petals.

“Can we discuss last night? At least the blood magic...”

You are silenced by a grape pushed into your open mouth. His hand is held below your chin, urging you to chew.

“Not here,” he whispers. “We wouldn’t want anyone to hear.”

“But I’m sure they’ve realized by now he’s dead,” you reply. “I can’t hide from it forever.”

Loki nods, eating a grape himself. “Then perhaps you can return to Midgard. It would be safer for you there.”

You drop the piece of fruit in your hand. Was his offer merely the misgivings of the peak of arousal? When confessions of love held no merit come sun rise? Had he not meant for you to stay here with him after all?

Your disappointment reads plainly on your face when Loki leans in to lick the juice from the line of your lips.

“Don’t look so sad, pet,” he replies. “Of course I’d prefer you here with me. So we can continue our fun.”

You back away, blinking.

“What exactly are we doing?” You ask.

He raises his eyebrow. “Eating breakfast... are you ill?”

His fingers hover over your forehead but you push him away.

“What am I to you?”

You held onto many labels for your affair with the God of Mischief. Enemies, reluctant partners turned reluctant friends, servant and master, and now...

“What are you to me...” he repeats, his lips hanging over each word. His fingers stroke over the rim of his cup.

You sip your tea as you anxiously wait for him to answer. You have all day. You’ll wait that long if that’s what it takes.

“You are... a mortal woman,” he begins, setting the cup down to nestle into the blades of grass. “Who wanted to use me as a bargaining tool to get recognition from S.H.I.E.L.D. Who would have had me dead if that meant securing her place in their hierarchy.”

“Loki...”

He hushes you with the tip of his finger and continues. “Who sent me spiraling out of the bifrost onto a trash planet. A woman who happily became my slave as a means of survival. Who let me live out my sick fantasies with her just so she could dream of a way home.”

He leans over you, slowly pining you into the grass.

“A woman I wanted to _fuck_.” He puts a strong emphasis on the final word, his breath pooling over your chest. “A woman I wanted to hear scream my name in pleasure as I came inside her. I wanted to unravel every new possibility within her.”

You are lying flat against the earth, the full weight of his body hovering over you, blocking out the sun and leaving you cast in the shadow of his form. His eyes no longer appear as brilliant gems but as hollow disks as his gaze burrows into you, prying into your mind. His fingers graze over your hardened nipples beneath the fabric of your dress.

“A woman whose cunt I craved, whose mouth I wanted wrapped around my cock.”

You moan as his hand trails up the slit of your skirt.

“As I do now.”

But as soon as his fingers inch toward the lining of your panties, he pulls away. You stifle a groan.

“Is that all?” You whisper.

He pushes into you, softly kissing your neck.

“Hm?”

“Is that all?” You repeat, sternly.

He looks up at you from your neck.

“Is that all I am to you?” Your eyes narrow. “A good fuck?”

His lips curl into a smirk. “You are just so desperate to hear me say the words, aren’t you?”

You squirm beneath him until he leans in closer, his voice a whisper hovered over your lips.

“You are a woman who has given me something I don’t think I’ll ever deserve,” he says, coolly. “But I’ll spend the rest of my days trying to earn it, rightfully.”

 _The rest of his days_...

“That’s a very long time for a god,” you mumble. “I’ll just be a glimmer in your memory. Just a fleeting moment. Am I really worth all that effort?”

“You don’t have any idea how you affect me, do you?”

He pins you down, his knee wedged between the apex of your thighs. “Shall I show you?” He moans against your parted lips.

“This isn’t about sex for once, Loki,” you groan, turning away. “I’m not.. I don’t just...” You sigh, unsure of what to say. But you’d said it before. That you loved him. Not just the way he made you come undone. But everything that made him so unique amongst a crowd of copies. Of men who were all the same.

He reaches up to hold your chin between his fingertips, turning so your eyes meet.

“I’d trade a million of my lifetimes just for one of these fleeting moments with you.”

You could swear your heart stops beating in that instance.You feel the blood pooling into your cheeks as he leans in to kiss you.

As much as you want to continue, your sex throbbing against the pressure his leg provides against you, you need an explanation for the events that transpired last night. For the magic you had unwilling conjured into existence.

“We can’t keep putting this off,” you groan, turning away so his lips meet the empty space beside you. “I don’t care who hears. I need to know more.”

He pulls up off of you, settling in against the trunk of the tree. “Ask me then, pet. Ask and I shall answer.”

He pulls you into his lap, allowing you to rest between his parted legs. One hand comes down to stroke your hair while the other fingers work to massage your neck and shoulder. You stifle a moan. It feels too good not to react.

“How could I have cast blood magic?” You ask. “When I’m just... normal?”

He laughs. “And what exactly is your definition of normal? Is sleeping with a God normal for humans?”

“Perhaps in Ancient Greece... but that’s beside the point.”

“Blood magic isn’t something a select few are born gifted with. So don’t think yourself so special, kitten,” he replies with a cold tone. “It’s within every living thing. It’s the darkness in your heart; the stain on your spirit. It’s the envy you feel, the hatred. The growing despair for living. It can fester inside of you all of your life. But if you let it stay there, ignored and unloved, it will go practically unnoticed. But if you embrace that pain, acknowledge it and nurture it, you can harness its power.”

“Is that how you felt before?” You ask. “Is that how you feel now?”

“I’m no stranger to the darkness,” he admits. “But I’m growing accustomed to your persistence that I be your storybook hero.”

His laughter reverberates against your back.

“I don’t want you to be anything other than what you are.” The admittance makes you blush. You redirect the conversation.

“So how is it that I was able to harness the magic in such a way that your eye was restored?”

“Commonly, if the power is wielded by a novice, it will simply transfer to the source of one’s desire,” he explains.

His lips wrap around your ear lobe.

“Namely, me.”

He sucks on your sensitive flesh until you squirm in his arms and flip around to face him.

“Perhaps I want to try it again.”

You wrap your legs around his hips to straddle him in against the bark of the tree.

“What pain could you have left in your heart, pet?” he asks, caressing your cheek with the back of his hand. “All I see in your gaze is love.” He smirks in satisfaction. “You love me.”

You blush. “Shut up,” you mutter.

“You love me,” he repeats, teasing you.

“Yes, I do.” You silence him up with your lips, your tongue sliding into his open mouth of mockery. You pull at his hair, and nibble on his bottom lip. You grind into his lap, feeling his ever growing arousal pressing in against your groin.

“Say the words, and I’m yours,” you moan into his lips. “Say it... master.”

He moans happily, thrusting up into you, his hands held to your hips, urging you to continue.

“It’s been too long since I’ve heard you call me that,” he growls. “I’ve missed our games.”

“And they will continue,” you promise. “If only you say it. I need to hear you say it.”

His lips part against you, your name becomes a moan against his tongue. But before he dare say anything more, someone clears their throat behind you, diverting his attention with a stern glare.

“So this is what you were busy doing on Sakaar...”

You turn around to see Fandral standing, arm around a woman, held tight to his waist. A playful smirk is warped over his lips.

“Can’t say I blame you for not rushing back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just giving you all a little heads up that I’ll be taking a brief hiatus as of the posting of chapter 39 (which will be the end of part three). Don’t worry, that won’t be the end of the story! I have a part four in mind. But I am getting married and going on our honeymoon so I’ll be otherwise preoccupied :P


	34. III. Voices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the congratulatory comments :) I truly appreciate it and hope you enjoy this chapter!

“Can’t you see we are a little busy?” Loki growls. “Must we always be interrupted...”

Loki’s nails come down into your hips as you push against his chest and manage to wiggle off his lap. You struggle to quickly pull your skirt down for renewed modesty.

“Heard you and I are going to be keeping the peace in Asgard while your lady friend returns home,” Fandral says, stealing a cluster of grapes.

“If Thor has his way,” Loki replies through gritted teeth.

“What do you mean return home?” You mutter, your gaze shifting from Fandral to Loki.

Fandral opens his mouth to speak, his eyes wrought with regret.

“Hurry off, love,” he whispers to the woman at his side. “We will have our fun later.” You eye his hand as it drifts over the curve of her rear before she smiles and flutters away on command.

“I’m sorry if I was the bearer of bad news,” he says to you, his voice low. “I assumed Loki told you after speaking with Thor.”

“And when did you speak to your brother about this?” _Before or after you told me you wanted me to stay here in Asgard with you? Before or after you promised me so much in so little time?_ Your growing anger permeates the floral air, making it seem stale and putrid. The aroma is suffocating.

 _He is a liar. Liar, liar, liar_ , the voice repeats.

Loki presses his fingers over the bridge of his nose. “Pet, that’s not... I didn’t...”

“What I don’t understand is why Thor is so persistent?” Fandral interrupts. “What’s the hurry?”

“When would he have us leave?” You ask, the words coming out like venom against your heated tongue.

“Tomorrow,” Fandral replies.

 _So soon_...

“And you wouldn’t be coming with me?”

Your eyes meet as you search his cool emerald abyss for an answer, for his truth.

“No,” Loki says plainly.

You pull away from his embrace and push past Fandral, his mouth hung open as if to speak. But all words are lost. Like the petals sent adrift from the fabric of your skirt as you race out of the garden.

You aren’t sure where are you going, but you know your direction. _Away_. You pace through halls, the wind kicking up beneath your dress from your accelerated haste. You barely pay any mind to your course of direction, gaze held to the floor. As you turn, your face collides with the hardened chest of a man. He catches you by the arms.

“I’m sorry!” You stutter. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

You look up, your gaze meeting Thor’s. Who looks about as agitated as you feel. His face softens and he smiles down at you, your name a whisper in greeting.

“The fault is mine,” he says. “I’m not exactly in a right mind this morning.”

He offers his hand to you. “Care to walk with me?”

You barely nod, looping your hand through the mass of muscle he calls an arm. The warmth of his skin radiates through the palm of your hand, acting almost as a comfort when you feel so cold, so drained of blood, so void of feeling. Besides anger. An anger that rattles your bones.

Was everything he told you lies? How could you have expected any less from a man who reveled in deceit?

_He is lying to you. He hates you._

“How do you like Asgard?” Thor asks, casually as you walk together. You shake your head to urge the voice back into the darkness.

“It’s beautiful here,” you reply dryly. “Earth truly pales in comparison to this place.”

“There is a lot of beauty to be found in Midgard. You just have to know where to look.”

You look ahead, at how the opening between columns displays a world as vibrate as a painting, the strokes of color new and wild. You try to memorize every sprig of grass, ever shade against the horizon. You wouldn’t be here for much longer.

“You and Loki seem to have grown close while in Sakaar.”

You swallow hard. 

“Your relationship with him...” he starts to say. “...Is intriguing.”

Your eyes widen as you look up at him. He is staring forward, lips curled up slightly.

“You aren’t very good at concealing it, if that was your aim.” He turns, smiling down at you. 

“There isn’t much to conceal,” you mutter, looking away.

_He uses you. Uses your body._

“You’ve brought out a side of him I have not seen for a very long time.” He pulls you down to sit with him on a nearby bench. “And I know you must care deeply for him.”

You search the pools of his eyes. You aren’t keen on expressing your feelings so openly to his brother. Especially when you have barely just accepted it yourself.

Especially when the voice whispers encouragement of your growing hatred. The hatred you’d forgotten back in the mahogany dwellings of Stephen Strange.

His hand comes down over yours against the grainy stone. “But you have to end it. Now.”

You jerk your arm away from his touch. “And why is that?” You scowl.

“Because love between gods and mortals...” he starts to say but there is hesitation in his voice. His tone wavering between a confession and an order. “It will never end well. For either of you.”

“Love...” you mutter, laughing. “What makes you so sure it’s love?”

“The way he looks at you,” he says softly. “His love isn’t expressed in a way you may expect from a mortal man. It comes in waves of violence. In the way he was so determined to rip Magnus to shreds in the central wing before I stopped him.”

You imagine him lunging for his reflection, a blur of blades and blood.

“Even still...What is so wrong with it that you must send me as far away from him as you can?”

His gaze meets your own, the storm brewing under the swirls of his cool irises.

“You’ll age,” he says. “You’ll die. And he will be torn between two worlds. Between this one and yours. Never truly belonging to either. Never belonging anywhere but to you, to your brief life. And when you leave him, as you will, it will break him.”

“Are you speaking of Loki?” You ask softly. “Or of yourself?”

You had briefly read the report when it was slapped onto your desk one morning. That Jane has effectively ended her relationship with the God of Thunder. It made you scuff looking at the typed lettering. _When had S.H.I.E.L.D. become a gossip column?_ You immediately chucked it into the bin.

“Loki is constantly tittering on the edge of chaos,” Thor continues, brows folded. “And for once, I’ve finally seen a glimmer of hope within him. Like the brother I once knew. But if you...”

“Do you miss her?” You interrupt, daringly.

His eyes darken. “No,” he replies, hunched over on the bench. “But Loki wouldn’t handle it the same way.”

His rests his chin against his folded hands, the sound of his breathing pulling you closer.

“You will send him back down that path of destruction,” he says. “And I don’t think I’d be able to get him back. Not a second time.”

“What makes you so sure I’ll be the cause of something like that?”

“Because love is chaos,” he replies, sadness dripping off his lips.

You stand to leave. “You have no right to tell either of us how to live our lives,” you growl. “I’m not Jane.”

“No... no, you aren’t.”

“As you said...I care about him, Thor,” you admit. “More than I thought possible. And if destruction is in our future, so be it. I’m willing to take the risk.”

You push away from him, determined to continue down the hall, out of his range of influence, when the voice screams inside your head.

_The God of Thunder... weak, pathetic. He should die. Die. Die. Kill him. Kill._

You crumble to the floor, covering your ears as if the sound were coming from somewhere beyond, outside of your skeletal form. But it is deep within you, vines held tight around your heart, compressing it to submission. A warmth spreads from that core in your chest, running up your arms, pulling with it a deadly chill that alerts every pore to awaken.

The darkness you felt that night with Magnus had seeped into you. Had held its ground nestled safely inside your chest. Waiting. Wanting. And now it was urging you to release it once again. To allow the black core to control your very breathing.

You feel a hand on your shoulder and turn to see Thor peering down at you. Your vision is cast in a dark haze, as the vibrations grow. The power surging into your fingertips, burning, yearning. Unyielding.

“Are you alright?” His voice is underwater, lost in the waves, carried away against the tide. You can barely hear him. Barely see him.

“Get away from me,” you warn, the warmth pooling into your mouth, burning your tongue. It tastes of blood. You want to taste blood. His blood.

His hand is heavy on your shoulder. “Thor, please,” you plead as you look up at him.

 _Kill him_.

It pulls you forward, off the floor, hands gripped unwillingly around Thor’s throat. His eyes alight with blue flames until the shockwaves of electricity send you spiraling to the floor and back into an unconscious void.


	35. III. Loki’s POV

He stares over your sleeping form, studying the pale vines that now decorate your sweat-glistened skin. Pulling up out of your pale blue veins, and spreading in delicate tendrils over your arms. Radiating from a tangled bushel against your chest, rising and falling with your shallow breathing. It is a forced sleep created by the Asgardian healers, an amber enclosure of runes held around you as a protective shield. For their sake and your own.

His hands clutch into fists at his side. His mind torn in two directions. How had he let it get this far? A test of your will power, a motivation to join him in the darkness. But it had sent you spiraling into it, without control. He knew blood magic could be consuming. He had seen the dire effects with his own eyes. But never had he seen it manifest itself in such a tangible way. It had marked you as a token of the dark forbidden magic. As if a warning for others who may feel tempted to venture into the depth of its allure.

He should have known the risk. He shouldn’t have tried. He shouldn’t have...

“What is this exactly?” He asks, eyes narrowing in as the vines seem to move at the sound of his voice. Tightening. You groan and shift in your sleep.

“Blood magic,” the healer beside him replies coldly. Thor is across from her, at the other side of the examination bed. The brothers exchange calculated glances.

“Mortals should not meddle in things they don’t understand,” the healer mutters. Her hands pass over the runes. They change color under the force of her hand, glowing a rich purple, then fading to an aqua hue.

“Will she live?” Thor asks.

“It’s hard to say,” the healer replies. “She is fighting from within, but this is very powerful magic. I don’t know if she will be able to break through it on her own.”

Loki pushes forward. His palms outstretch toward you in an attempt to sense the power coursing through your veins, to comprehend its source. But the woman grips his wrist, pulling his arms down.

“Don’t be foolish!” She scolds. “You may only make it worse.”

Loki shakes off her touch. He sulks around the bed, his hand held over his mouth. As if to muffle a curse, an insult, that would cause his quick dismissal from the room. Every time he inches closer to you, the vines twist and turn, like restraints around your arms. As if reacting to him directly.

A muttered sound of pain comes out as a whimper from your quivering lips.

“She’s in pain,” he groans. “Can’t you do your damn job and help her?”

The healer huffs but continues her work regardless.

“Lets leave them to their work, Loki,” Thor says. “We are no help to her here.”

“But they aren’t doing anything!” He screams and your own scream follows, a painful song shattering the delicate veil of runes around you. They vibrate and fade before falling back into place. The shield holds. Tears shimmer down your flushed cheeks, radiating with a heat that smolders from within.

He whispers your name, coming closer. The vines slither higher, curling up around your neck, a makeshift noose.

“Loki...” you cry out. “Loki, please...” Your eyes are tightly closed. “Loki, help me.”

But your voice is not your own. It is accompanied by another, much deeper tone. One that mocks him as you speak.

“Who are you?” He asks sternly. “Who dwells within her?”

It roars laughter that floods out of your open mouth, muffling your natural sobbing. The pain in your voice grows, strengthening the menacing disembodied voice.

“She tastes so sweet,” it murmurs. “The nectar of the Gods drips from every pore. So meant to be a God’s plaything.”

Your head turns, eyes still sealed shut. “Fucking her pales in comparison to truly being inside her, being a part of her. Knowing every fear she harbors inside her heart. Every sweet desire.” Your tongue flickers out over your lips, serpent like.

Then, your jaw unhinges, letting more laugher erupt into the air. Louder and louder until he can’t stand it any longer and reaches his hand through the runes. It throws him like a rag doll across the room. He falls to the floor in a heap of medical supplies, disgruntled and shaking.

“Out!” The healer screams. “I want him out!”

Thor pulls him by the scruff of his neck and drags him from the room, in a display of flaying limbs and muttered curses.

“The fuck do you think you are doing?” Thor screams.

“Me?” Loki shouts. “She’s dying and you expect me to just stand by and watch?” He pushes away from Thor’s grasp once they are clear of the room.

“I had to stop you from killing yourself,” Thor snarls. “Or worse, killing her.”

“They don’t know anything about the effects of blood magic,” he mutters in response.

“And you do?”

Loki slides down the wall, his knees bent, his arms dangling between the gap of his legs. His head leans back against the cobble to stare up at Thor.

“I know more than I should,” he admits.

“Is this because of Magnus? Did he cause this? Was that... was that his voice?”

Loki closes his eyes. It was him. It was Magnus, hanging on her body like a leech. “He wanted us to kill him. I should have known it was a trap. It was too easy,” he says in a sigh. “I caused this. I pushed her. I wanted to see how far I could pull her into my world. How much she’d accept. I didn’t expect her to be so willing.”

_You were so willing, my sweet mortal. So willing to please me. To be filled with my essence, in every sense of the word._

“She loves you,” Thor says. “Love makes us all blind. Even you.”

“Don’t talk to me of love...” his face falls heavy into his hands. “So fragile.” His voice is muffled beneath his hands. “So breakable... such a weak woman.”

Thor speaks his name in a rush of sympathy but his gaze widens as his brother’s head jolts up to show him a manic grin. “Did I tell you she took a dagger for me on Sakaar? She should have died.” His laughter comes in erratic waves. “Such a simple woman...”

His eyes feel wet, irritated. He blinks and the tears fall over the forged grin stretching over his thin lips. He clutches his chest.

_Stupid mortal... Gods, save me from your talons._

_I need you._

“Tell me.”

Loki lifts his head to look at his brother, standing a foot away.

“Tell me what we have to do.” Thor repeats, his voice low. “What we can do to save her.”

Loki tilts his head to the side. “Why?”

“Because you are even more unhinged without her.” Thor shoves his hand through his hair. “Perhaps you have changed her for the worse. But I believe she’s changing you for the better.”

Loki smirks. “Is she now?”

“You would have killed that healer,” Thor says. “But you showed restraint.”

Loki shifts to stand, groaning as he does. “I may still kill her.”

“That you might.” Thor smiles, clasping his shoulder. “Now, what’s your plan?”

“The library,” Loki answers.

The two brothers walk side by side toward the potential source of your redemption. Or so they hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I am having way too much fun writing part four. It’s just pouring out of me. 
> 
> There are a lot of feels in your future. And I apologize for nothing :P I can’t wait for you to read it! But first, back to part three...


	36. III. Exorcised

You stand in a white void. But you aren’t truly standing. You no longer have a form. Just a cluster of energy held to space. Atoms and light. Ahead of you, there is another. A darkness that burns the air around you. Seething. Pulsating. Coming nearer.

You’d felt that darkness before, felt the core of it within your chest, pulling the air from your lungs.

“Magnus,” you call into the black beyond.

The darkness surges toward you.

“Hello, Love,” He seems to say. From everywhere and nowhere.

“Am I... dead?” You ask.

“No, you are very much alive,” he answers. “As am I.”

“I killed you,” You say. “I saw you die.”

“Oh, but I live.” He didn’t have a face but if he did, you could swear he is smiling. “I live within you. We are one.”

“How could that...”

“The magic your precious God gave you,” he responds. “It was exactly what I needed. To discard my weak mortal coil. To be a part of you like I never could.”

You remember the voice in your head. His voice. Telling you to kill. To kill Thor.

“Did I...”

“He lives,” he replies, as if reading your mind. “But you may not for long. If you keep fighting against me. If you resist this any longer.”

The heat radiating from that dark cloud wraps around you. “You are so weak like this. In that fragile body. Just let me have you. Just let it happen.”

“No,” you say. And you repeat it over and over again until he is pushed away by the radiating light of your spirit, slowly dimming against the force of his power.

“How could you have ever hoped for Sigyn’s love?” you mutter. “After she loved Loki so much that she killed herself over the apparent loss...”

His laughter comes out of the swirling storm clouds. Growing and changing.

“Is that what he told you?” He laughs. “Oh, how he still deceives you... even now. Even when you trust him so blindly.”

His ethereal form wraps over you, and you fear you may be lost in the void of his embrace.

“Sigyn didn’t kill herself,” he hums, his voice all around you, inside you. “Loki killed her. Shoved his dagger into her soft throat like you did to me. “

“You’re lying.” You’re shaking. It’s hot. It’s too hot. You can’t breathe.

“But I am not,” he coos. “While he was on your precious Earth, trying to enslave your race, killing your people, I was here on Asgard trying to repair the destruction he had left behind.

“Sigyn was inconsolable. A broken version of her former self. She’d sit in his empty room, staring out at the land as if picturing his return. Always waiting. I couldn’t stand to see her like that. I couldn’t stand to see what he’d done to her. What he had willingly given up because of his selfish pride.

“I tried to heal her broken heart with my magic. I wanted her to feel whole again. And I hoped that through bringing her renewed purpose, through healing her... she would grow to love me. Truly love me. More than she loved him. But my magic was flawed. Everything I did couldn’t bring her back to her beautiful former self. So I turned to blood magic. But it was wrong. Twisted. She... she became something else. Someone else.”

The heat coils into your form. If you had eyes, you would have cried. If you had a mouth, you would have screamed.

“And you know what he did?” Magnus whispers. “He saw her like that... this creature she’d become. And he couldn’t even see a glimmer of the woman he loved. So he killed her.”

“Why tell me all of this?” You manage to ask, your light fading fast.

“So you can truly see the kind of man you say you love.”

You try to imagine it, the Loki of days past, holding his beloved so tenderly in that hidden alleyway. How he looked at her as if she held everything: his future, his soul, his humanity. And then you imagine his dagger drawing out ribbons of blood from her exposed neck. Crimson mingling with the clear rain puddles at their feet.

_No, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t._

“But he did,” Magnus answers. “And he could very well do the same to you. Now that I’ve sunk my claws into you. Now that you are marred like she was.”

Deep within this misted form, this evidence of your spirit still fighting in resistance against him, you believe Magnus. Believe what Loki is capable of. Believe that his concept of love could be so shallow that he may extinguish your life, the smoldering flame of what remained, if he thought you were beyond repair.

He had thought Sigyn was beyond saving. That he couldn’t bring her out of that darkness either.

But above all your doubt, beyond all of your fear, you trust him. You trust Loki. Trust in the man he is today. The broken man you held in your arms after you yourself were torn to pieces, left in need of mending. How you felt in that moment that he needed you, as much as you needed him.

That he knew he could save you. This time, he wouldn’t let despair take hold. He wouldn’t be forced to end your misery.

And you know that’s something Magnus wouldn’t anticipate from a weak mortal such as yourself. You now have the advantage.

“Magnus...” you struggle to say with his looming form still held around you. “Maybe you’re right....Loki is the God of deceit and lies after all. How could I ever put my life in his hands...”

Magnus hums in response, vibrating with approval.

“I was weak when I was with him,” you continue. “A weak mortal who was seduced by him. By his fake charm.”

“Glad you’ve come to your senses,” he replies.

“I just wanted to be loved.”

“And you’ll have love. That and so much more if you let me in.”

“What more would I have?”

“Power. Control. The right to truly live for yourself and no one else.”

_Even you?_

“I am ready,” you purr.

Instantly, you feel your spirit being pulled back into your physical form. And it feels impossibly heavy, a burden compared to the weightless sensation of being unbound. But you gasp, filling your lungs eagerly with air to lighten the load.

“Loki! Loki,she’s awake!”

You blink and the room comes into view out of a blurred haze. There is something encased around you, surrounding you in a spiral of amber light. Like a glass coffin. You lift your hands to touch it but it pushes back against the force of your hand. Like elastic.

And then you see him, standing beside you. His eyes are bloodshot and heavy. He inches closer.

“No!” You shout. “Please stay back! Loki... Loki, it’s...” _Magnus. It’s Magnus._

“I know,” he answers. “I know. And I won’t let him hurt you. I won’t let this kill you. Not like... not...”

“Sigyn,” you finish for him and he stares at you with wide, fearful eyes. “I know the truth, Loki.” You push your hand against the edge of the faux glass. “I know.”

_Look at me. Know I love you. And trust me._

He rests his hand against yours, separated by swirling runes. But you recoil, a consuming pain tightening around your chest as you feel Magnus’s resurgence. Your vision darkens.

“Now! Do it now!” You hear Loki scream and the glass shatters. Nothing separating you from Loki. Nothing protecting him from Magnus.

And your body convulses as Thor strikes you with a bolt of lightning. You are going to burn alive, you fear. But you trust him. You trust Loki.

Magnus is seething, scorched by the attack as much as you are. And through your tear-clouded vision, you see Loki reach for you, pulling you into his arms. He holds you tight to his chest, pushing against your back.

“I’m here,” he whispers. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Magnus is crawling his way up your throat, struggling for dominance. But you hold steady to Loki, absorbing the chill of his skin as if it holds the cure.

“Do you trust me?” He asks. But he doesn’t need your answer. His lips collide with yours and every part of your weakened body becomes alive again, alit with love for him. And you could swear it is that archaic emotion that drives Magnus from you. The strength of your love. But it’s Loki, pulling the darkness from your throat, into his mouth.

He means to take Magnus into himself.

_No, I won’t lose you. I won’t lose this. Not now. Not when we’ve come so far._

And you pull back from his kiss, using every ounce of power Loki had gifted you to exorcise Magnus from your body and push him into the open air. He is vulnerable, a being without form, without meaning. Leaving him an open target for both brothers to strike: a combination of earth-bound fury and magic. Until Magnus’s final scream fills the room and he is left as nothing but a faint mist in the air, slowly fading.

He is dead. And this time for good.

You relax in Loki’s arms, drained of all remaining energy. But he holds steady to you, his grip firm and telling.

He pulls your lips to his once more, kissing you so tenderly you may melt into his touch. Your name is but a whisper on his lips before he says louder, loud enough for his words to resonate, to bury deep inside you.

“I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready guys. The next chapter is an explosion of smut...


	37. III. Shared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready, folks... it’s about to get very, VERY steamy in here!

Loki carries you back to his chambers, refusing to let even your feet touch the ground. Thor had barely batted an eye your way before his brother whisked you out of the room. You are still light headed from the transfer of energy, the dark force fully dismissed from your body. Having taken with it all remnant of power. You are fully human again. A human in the arms of a God.

A God who loves you.

The words resound in your head until you blush and hide your face in the crook of his neck. Nuzzling into him until his rich mossy scent coats your nostrils. He kisses your forehead before kicking open the doors to his bed chambers.

He lays you gently on the bed and you sigh as the velvet touches your skin. He stands before you, his breathing heavy and his eyes thick with desire. But he takes his time, slowly pushing bits of your dress back to tenderly kiss your bare shoulders, your exposed thigh. Tracing his lips over each freckle and scar. He suckles on your skin, savoring each moan you provide. As if you are the sweetest thing he has ever tasted. Worshipping your body in only the way an immortal lover can.

With time, the dress slides off your body, followed by your soaked panties, only after he has laid waste to every uncovered inch of skin with his watering lips. His hands roam up your body, curving over your breasts before capturing your face and pulling you up to him.

Your eyes meet as his pupils dilate. With lust and something close to fear.

“I have brought you so close to death,” he mutters. “And every time your love for me grows stronger. Why?”

You run your fingertips delicately across his chiseled jaw, a day’s worth of stubble rough against your skin.

“Love doesn’t always make sense,” you say with a small smile. “If we had met in New York, when you first attacked, do you think we’d be here now?”

He kisses your cheeks until his lips caress the corners of your mouth.

“Perhaps not,” he replies. “But you were brought into my life when my heart had healed enough for you to lay waste to it.”

You sigh into his embrace, legs parting to wrap around him at the edge of the bed. He pushes into you, his hardened cock begging for release beneath his garments.

“Fate is a cruel mistress,” he hums, capturing you fully with his mouth.

You fall against the bed as his lips trails down your neck. His tongue dances down to your navel. You anticipate the cool caress of his breath over your slick folds but there is silence. An absence of him. You jerk up to see him standing at the edge, a pace away from you. His hands tighten into fists before he relaxes. His traditional Asgardian clothes shimmer off his body, replaced with the suit he wore when you first encountered him in Dr.Strange’s home. His hair is slicked back. His lips curl up into a mischievous smirk. And for the first time in a very long while, you can not read his intent.

“Should I bring you back to that day?” He asks.

You remember the cool look he gave you back then. The way he studied you.

“I don’t have my taser,” you tease.

He slowly removes his tie. The silk cascading beside you on the bed.

“When I saw you, I knew I wanted you,” he admits. “I knew I’d make you mine.”

“That night?” Your eyes are wide as you watch his fingers move down to unbutton his shirt. The fabric is quickly discarded to the floor. He keeps his pants intact, leaving just his chest bare to you.

“On your knees, pet,” he commands. And the darkened gaze he casts over you provides little room for hesitation.

You turn around and prop yourself up on your knees, facing away from him. You are vulnerable to his games. Ass high and bare, cunt glistening in anticipation. It brings you back to the dream he once pushed into your mind. You lick your lips.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he hums in approval. “Wet and ready for me.” His fingers slide up over your entrance, grazing your asshole. Your arms feel weak, trembling under the weight of your own desire.

He leans over you, pulling your chin back towards him. His cool breath seeps into your open, quivering mouth.

“I want to show you what I would have done to you that night,” he growls and his hand collides into your eagerly awaiting ass with a harsh slap. You gasp upon impact, biting your lip as he pulls away.  
  
He traces the faint imprint before slapping you again. This time it’s harder, causing you to reel forward onto your chest. This time, his hand would leave a better mark.

You pant, your pussy flushed and dripping. He breathes over your opening, a breeze of winter air, before he laps up your crystalline honey with his extended tongue. He sucks on your inflamed lips before pulling them playfully between his teeth.

“Spread your ass for me,” he orders and without hesitation you comply, your hands reaching back to rest against your pink cheeks, pulling them apart.

You are left fully exposed for him.

His tongue immediately swirls over your asshole and you gasp. It feels dirty, wrong. It is where Magnus took you. Where he violated you. You jerk away.

Loki kisses you at the base of your spine.

“Relax, sweet girl,” he hums, fingers returning to your slippery folds. “I’ll only take your ass when you beg for it.”

He pulls his fingers away and adds, “Though that night I wouldn’t have been so generous with my patience.”

Facing forward, you hear the familiar sound of his pants unbuckling. The leather of his belt snaps.

“Who do you belong to?”

You make to turn towards him when the belt whips into your flesh. You shout a moan, a mix of pain and pleasure.

“Who do you belong to?” He repeats.

“You!” You shout as the belt comes down once again onto your ass. “You, master!” You can feel the welts forming where the leather has cut into your tender flesh.

“Such a good girl,” he growls in approval. The metal clasp of the belt hits the floor.

“You deserve to be rewarded.”

He pulls you around so that you are kneeling against the edge of the bed. Your hands rest against your knees, trembling. His finger traces over your lips.

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

You nod slowly and the silk tie comes around your eyes, blinding you. You remember the first time he blindfolded you, when you were raw and torn, emotionally unprepared for his games. But tonight, you love him. Tonight, you belong to him. Completely.

He ties the silk into place and you reach for him in the gray darkness. Your fingers find his cock and he eagerly pushes into your open palm, urging you to stroke him. He moans and you open your mouth, a sign for him to fuck you there. With your hand still wrapped around his cock, you get your wish as another cock shoves into your awaiting mouth. You gag as it pushes back into your throat. The taste of the stranger’s sex is familiar, deliciously so.

“This is what I wanted,” Loki whispers. “To take all of you at once. To fill every hole.”

You jerk back, the clone’s cock popping out of your mouth. You hesitate, licking your lips to savor the salty taste of his precum, slick on your tongue. You never imagined being with two men at the same time. Let alone the same man. But as his cock bobs in front of you, slapping against your cheeks, it only serves to further pull you toward this sinful unknown.

You reach forward to stroke his hardened length, forcing him back into your mouth, while you use your other hand to pleasure the original Loki. They both moan in approval, their thrusts alternating around you. You pull back, swirling your tongue over the clone’s sensitive head.

“My sweet girl,” he murmurs, hands held onto each side of your face before he pulls you down to fuck your throat with a low grunt. In and out. Urgent to fill you completely.

The original Loki pulls away, leaving your hand empty. You feel the chill of his body come up behind you as he lies on the bed.

“Come here, kitten,” he beckons. “Ride my cock.”

The clone slides his cock back out of your mouth. He guides you, fumbling in the darkness, to lie on top of his original. You swing your legs over him, positioning your pussy lips just above his eager cock. He reaches forward, grabbing the back of your head before kissing you deeply. He thrusts up slightly, enough so his cock kisses your entrance, rubbing up and over your folds. It coats the tip of his sex in your glistening wetness. Without another warning, he thrusts fully inside of you. He is relentless, hands held to your breasts as you bounce up and down on his lap, just as he has requested.

Hands on your hips urge you over his length. And when Loki’s hands tangle into your hair, you realize it’s the clone encouraging you to fuck him. He leans in over your back, sucking on your neck, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

“Such a good pet,” he murmurs. “My cock fits perfectly inside your tight cunt.”

You turn, asking him to kiss you. He captures your lips with his own and you know then that you want him inside of you. You want them both inside of you. Reservations be damned.

“Fuck me,” you whisper. “Fuck my ass.”

He growls in approval, spanking you hard in preparation, before a warm sensation pools over your asshole. A lubricant which he applies liberally, enough so that this time you might feel pleasure rather than pain. He presses into your back, pulling your hair to the side so he can kiss the back of your neck.

“Are you ready for me, pet?” He whispers against your skin.

“Yes, please...” you moan, as the Loki below you begins to slow his pace. He reaches back and pulls your ass cheeks apart, enough to allow his clone easier access inside of you.

You feel the tip of his cock fit just barely inside and gasp, fully aware of the extent of his girth as he attempts to slide into place.

“That’s it, let me in,” he murmurs against your ear before pushing further. “Take my cock like a good little slut.”

You throw your head back against his shoulder as both men begins to move in perfect synchronicity inside of you. A push and pull. An erotic dance. And you become lost inside the rhythm that pulls you closer and closer towards release. You never thought your ass could be such a source of intense pleasure. But with both men inside you, you can’t imagine it any other way. You open your mouth, and sing your song of pleasure, moaning his name over and over again, drunk on his cocks.

“Ah, Just one left...” Loki purs mischievously below you and as if on cue, another cock shoves into your open mouth. You moan happily, taking in his length and swirling your tongue over the bulging veins.

The Loki behind you grabs your breasts while the one below circles your clit.

Three Loki’s. All inside of you. All fucking you simultaneously.

“I’m gonna to cum,” You moan happily as you pull back. “I’m gonna cum!”

Loki’s grip tightens around your hips as both men thrust completely inside of you to fill you with their cum. The Loki at your lips pulls back enough to coat your tongue with his milky nectar. It hits your tongue in a hot spurt of release as all four of you moan in unison. Your pussy clinches down, throbbing as the waves of orgasm send you spiraling into a dizzying madness. Your eyes well up with tears, soaking the silk blindfold. Your breathing is erratic as your trembling fingers trace over the lines of Loki’s abs below you, feeling his chest raise and fall. You swear he is smiling up at you as he moans one final time before the Loki at your rear kisses your neck softly. He is panting, coming down from his own climatic high.

He reaches a hand up and with one swift pull, releases the tie, the bright room slowly coming backed into blurred clarity. You stare down at Loki, still hard inside of you, his cum dripping down your thigh.

“That was...” you start to say but how could you describe what you'd both just experienced? You couldn’t put it into words.

But he smiles up at you as if he understands and pulls you down to kiss him. The two other Lokis gently kiss your arms and legs in turn, trailing toward your ass to soothe the pain of their past dominance. Just his touch alone is a healing embrace.

The original Loki waves a hand and the two copies disperse into the air. You sigh in dismay.

He reaches up around your neck and you feel the familiar silk of your collar placed back into its rightful place. How quickly you’d forgotten about it. But how quickly you relish in the feeling of it returned to your skin.

“You are mine,” he reminds you. “My little mortal... my love.”

Your fingers caress the small metal charm before you lean down, smiling against his lips and affirm, “Yours. Always.”


	38. III. Split

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: the POVs for this chapter are split between Loki and Reader.
> 
> \- End of Part 3 -
> 
> HIATUS NOTICE: I will try to post when possible during month of March. Regular postings to resume in April

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may casually ship Thor/Sif as you may notice in this chapter...
> 
> New songs added to soundtrack:  
> \- Stockholm Syndrome - Muse  
> \- Time is Running Out - Muse  
> \- Harder to Breathe - Maroon 5  
> \- Let Me Know - William Bolton

_**Loki’s POV** _

Though he thought he’d dream of you that night, he never bargained on the kind of visions that would soon haunt him.

He is sprinting down an empty corridor, one covered in a low fog, wrapped around his ankles. You are calling to him, your voice beckoning him further. But as he turns, its Sigyn he sees. Her arms are outstretched, blood pouring like tears from her shattered eyes.

“Loki, please... please kill me,” she begs. “It’s hurts... it hurts!”

As he reaches for her, the blood begins to seep from her hands, from every tendon, every limb. As if she is melting. She cries out in pain until he can’t take it anymore and cradles her in his arms, her blood staining his shirt, turning it red.

She caresses his cheek tenderly, nodding. A smear of crimson is left on his skin.

“Please,” she begs one last time.

And he shoves his dagger deep into her heart. He feels it puncture that delicate organ, soft and vulnerable. But when he pulls the blade from her shattered chest, it isn’t Sigyn he has wounded.

It’s you.

You smile up at him, as if you couldn’t be happier.

“I love you,” you say sweetly, blood dripping off your lips. “I love you, Loki.”

He drops the blade and pulls you tight to his chest as he feels your life slowly drain from your body.

He wakes in a cold sweat, clutching onto the sheets of his bed. He can’t stand to lie beside you. Not when he is so shaken, so broken.

He’s nearly lost you. Time and time again you continue to inch toward death. Because of his own actions. Everything he does brings you closer to ruin. And still you love him. How still you hopelessly follow him into the darkness. The thought is maddening, driving him out of the room in the middle of the night.

He wouldn’t stand by and watch you die. He wouldn’t be the cause. Not like Sigyn. Not again.

He’d rather you be apart if it would guarantee you’d be happy and safe, then remain together and live everyday in fear of losing you.

He finds his brother, seated inside the midnight pub with Lady Sif over half-filled steins of ale. He hesitates, feeling as if he may be interrupting something, but courtesy was not in his nature.

Sif sees him first. “Loki,” she says, but not as a greeting. More as a warning.

“Brother!” Thor exclaims upon seeing him. The whites of his eyes have become a tinge of pink, a sign of his intoxication. “Come, drink with us.”

Loki settles in across from them at the table.

“I’m surprised to find you out of your bed chambers at this hour,” Thor says with a smile. “Did you need some air?” He laughs before lifting the ale to his lips.

He turns to Sif and in his drunken state adds, “They were probably having sex.”

She rolls her eyes and pulls the ale out of Thor’s gasp, placing it slightly out of reach. But he glares and stretches forward to take another large gulp.

“I need you to fulfill your promise,” Loki says sternly. “And take her back to Midgard.”

Thor practically spits out the mouthful of alcohol back into his mug.

“What?” He spats, eyes wide. “Are you joking?”

“No, I’m not,” Loki replies. “And it has to be tomorrow. Take her back tomorrow.”

“You are going to have to explain yourself a little.” Thor sets the stein down, heavy against the table. He blinks, attempting to sober up, before his gaze burrows into his brother. Though Loki refuses to look up from his folded hands.

“The last time I saw you, you were confessing your love to her,” Thor says. “What’s changed?”

Sif’s eyes widen. “Loki actually said he loves her?” She chokes on her own ale. “Are we sure this isn’t another imposter?”

Loki glares at her across the table. “She can’t stay with me. She needs to go back to where she belongs.”

“Where she belongs...” Thor glares. “This isn’t because of what I said before, is it? Loki, I say a lot of things I don’t mean...”

“As if I take anything you say to heart.”

Thor chugs the rest of the ale. “But you love her,” he insists. “There isn’t anything that’s going to stop that. Not me. Not Lady Sif. Not the bifrost. Not S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Midgard would be a good start ...”

“I saw how desperate you were to get her back,” Thor continues, ignoring his disgruntled remarks. “I searched the library for hours with you, looking for a way to save her from that damned Magnus. And I hate the library. The place smells of dust and old women... but I stayed for you. Besides, you both argued to no end with me about it...”

“She argued with you...?” Loki shoves his fingers into his scalp, the heel of his palm resting against his forehead. _Of course you did, pet. Of course you’d fight for me_. But it was as if he could still feel the warmth of your blood on his hands. _I’m not good for you._

“I _will_ kill her,” he says, looking up at his brother. “You know I will. Nothing I love can last for long.”

Thor’s hand extends toward him across the table, but he is just out of reach. “She isn’t like her, Loki,” he says. “She’s stronger than you think.”

“And how exactly do you know that?” Loki barks, settling into the back of his chair.

“I spoke with her, before Magnus came to say hello,” he says. “Did I not tell you that?”

Loki’s eyes narrow. “That would have been a detail worth mentioning,” he mutters.

“I didn’t want you to love a mortal,” he confesses. “Not like I did.... not like Jane. So, I tried to convince her it wasn’t right for you, for either of you. But I was never worried for her safety. I was worried for yours.”

Loki chuckles. “Worried for me? That’s a first.”

“No, really!” Thor slurs. “I want you to...” he tries to continue but Sif intervenes.

“Perhaps now isn’t the best time for this kind of discussion,” she says. “Your brother is drunk and you are... heated.”

“His loins are heated...” Thor chuckles.

“Ok, time for bed.” Sif attempts to pull Thor from his chair. He bats her hands away.

“No, I’m fine!” He insists, stumbling forward to grab Loki’s face between the palms of his hands, squeezing his cheeks together. “Listen to me brother, I love you. I really do. I love your stupid face. And I just... I just want you to be happy. For once. You are always so angry. Why are you so angry, Loki?”

Even in his drunken state, he is still so hopelessly optimistic. So willing to see the good in Loki. To rekindle the friendship they had as young men, before thoughts of betrayal and Loki’s true parentage got in the way.

“Then do this for me,” Loki replies, grabbing his hands to pull them away, but they hold like glue. “Take her far away from here.”

Their eyes meet and Loki could swear his brother is trying to pry into his mind. But he has no talent for magic. Not like him and mother did.

“Will that truly bring you happiness?” He asks.

_No. It will break my heart._

“Yes,” he says instead.

“Then consider it done.” Thor releases Loki and raises from his chair, swaying slightly. “Lady Sif, would you be so kind as to take me to bed?”

The female warrior’s face glows a pale maroon before she reaches forward to help the drunken God of Thunder stand.

“Goodnight, Loki,” she says as they pass.

Loki grabs her arm.

“Continue on course,” he says. “Even if I beg you not to tomorrow. Even if I come running to stop it.”

Sif barely nods and leaves with Thor at her side.

Loki stares off into the empty pub, eyes void of all feeling.

* * *

 

_**Reader’s POV** _

You groan a complaint as you are jostled awake.

“Loki, just give me five more minutes,” you mumble, snuggling into his pillow. It’s still smells like him. It smells of you both.

“You need to wake up.” It’s a woman voice, her hand nudging softly on your shoulder. “You have to get dressed.”

Your eyelids flutter open, the gentle morning sunlight coming in through the open balcony. The warmth a kiss upon your face. The apex of thighs still feels satiated from the passions of last night, slick with the remnants. Every inch of your body now claimed by the God who lie waste to a new sexual horizon. You smile at the recall, wanting nothing more than to reach for Loki and start again.

But as you rub your eyes, you can just barely make out Sif’s silhouette against the streams of light.

“Sif?” You pull up the bedsheets to cover your naked breasts in a panic. “What are you doing here? Where’s Loki?”

You notice the dress draped over Sif’s arm, the royal blue too somber for your taste.

“We have to go,” Sif says, holding the dress out for you. “Heimdall is waiting for us.”

“Heimdall?” You shift out of bed and search the edges for your discarded undergarments from the night before. “Is Loki meeting us somewhere?”

“Can I help you with the laces?” Sif offers as you glide the dress over your head.

“Why are you avoiding my questions?” You glare. “Is something wrong with Loki?”

“Please just get dressed and we can talk about it on the walk there,” she insists.

So you comply, following her from the room as you attempt to sort out your hair, running your fingers through it.

She leads you down the rainbow bridge, the same one you’d seen in the glimpse of Loki’s memory, the one that had been shattered. But here it is intact, leading to a golden structure just ahead.

“What’s going on, Sif?” You ask, sounding harsher than you intend.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. knows you are here,” she explains. “They’ve effectively dubbed this a sort of kidnapping and have ordered your return to Midgard.”

_Ordered my return? Since when would S.H.I.E.L.D. care about my well-being?_

As you enter the structure, Thor is standing waiting for you along with a man you’ve never met. The man is ordained in gold, glistening armor. His hands are posed around what appears to be a large sword.

“I’m sorry to have woken you in such haste,” Thor says as you approach. “I trust Lady Sif explained the situation.”

“Barely,” you grunt. “How does S.H.I.E.L.D. even know I’m here? I’ve only missed a few days of work back on Earth... not enough to assume kidnapping.”

You study Thor who can barely look at you.

“And I’m barely even more than intern,” You say glaring. “But you didn’t know that... did you? You thought I was a field agent.”

“Heimdall, open the bifrost,” he orders to the unknown man, whose golden eyes peer at you as if he can see right through you.

“I remember that name now... Heimdall,” You mutter. You remember how Thor had shouted it defiantly before you’d been hurled in through that brilliant tunnel and spewed out into space. Into this chaotic fate with the God of Mischief.

You slowly walk closer to the man. He nods in acknowledgement and greets you by name.

“You opened the bifrost that day,” you remember. “Before Thor and Loki were ready to return... why?”

“I can see into your world if I wish to,” he replies, his voice low but calming, slowly settling your anxious heart. “I saw you and sensed a strange type of aura, one I couldn’t see in Midgard. I hoped to bring you here and examine it myself.”

“My aura?”

He smiles. “But I see it now very clearly.”

“Open the bifrost,” Thor repeats. He is pacing, staring down at the bridge from which you came, as if waiting for something. Or someone.

“What do you see?” You ask.

“You both have the same aura.”

His hands shift over the sword in his grasp, like a turnkey, and the bifrost roars into existence behind you, a spiraling vortex of light and energy. It’s beautiful and blinding. It brought you and Loki together and now it would tear you apart. The end and the beginning. An ouroboros.

“We have to go.” Sif is at your side, gripping onto your arm.

“I won’t go until I’ve seen him,” you insist, squirming to turn to escape her grasp. “Does he know about this?”

“It’s better that we leave while we still have time.” Thor speaks as if there is a bomb strapped to your chest. But why the urgency? Why the sudden need to...

“He does know,” you stutter, your eyes widening as you stumble backward, the realization like dagger surging through your heart. “He knows you are taking me to back to Earth.”

And yet he is letting you go. Without even saying goodbye.

You turn to Sif, your hands shaking at your sides. “Was this his idea? Did he ask you to do this?”

Sif’s eyes are wrought with regret when a gallop of hooves draws your attention toward the bridge. You see a dark figure approaching on horseback, racing towards you. And as he nears, anger surges through every vein, every muscle.

 _You’re too late,_ you want to scream. _If you truly ever loved me, you wouldn’t watch me walk away. You’d fight for this. Like I’ve fought for you. To me, our love is worth the pain. It is worth everything I’ve endured._

_Is that not enough for you?_

You turn to face the bifrost, holding out your hand to Thor.

“Let’s be done with this then,” you say, your voice quivering with evidence of your heart’s betrayal.

He reaches for your hand before you turn one last time to face Loki. The galloping has stopped and he stands like a horseman of the apocalypse staring off at it from a distance. His cape caught in the wind.

“You idiot,” Thor mutters. And though you believe he is speaking to you, he too has his gaze set toward the horizon.

You stifle back tears of anguish. You refuse to let him see you cry. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction. So you turn back around to let Thor lead you into the blinding light, leaving your future on Asgard behind you.

Leaving your future with Loki behind you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that’s it folks! The end of part three. I know, I know. My heart hurts too!
> 
> But I am currently working on part four (chapter 44 is written and being edited) so there is plenty more to come for these crazy kids. 
> 
> I may or may not post during my planned hiatus for the month of March. I’d like to wet your palette a bit so be in the look out :) As always, I love you all and appreciate all your kind comments and I hope to continue to entertain you moving forward. Who would have thought a simple story (only planned to be 3 chapters max) has become the 40+ epic that it is. I’m very excited to share the rest with you!


	39. IV. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Beginning of Part 4 -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I hate to make you suffer :) we ended things poorly with the end of part three but can things get any worse?

The return to Earth is a blur. As if you aren’t really here, your soul left somewhere on Asgard.

Thor and Sif take you into S.H.I.E.L.D. the minute you arrive, still trying to convince you this were the true reason for your departure. Not Loki. Not his arrogance. Not his beautiful deceit.

The representatives sent to greet the Asgardian guests do not recognize you. But why would they? You were no one special, no prized operative. Just a research lackey hunched over her laptop. They barely even remember you are employed by them. But Thor plays the Sakaar card, embellishing the tale of your interstellar travels. The representatives immediately perk up.

“Well, she needs to speak to Fury directly,” one says to the other.

“No, we need to take her to the medical ward,” the other argues. “Being on a foreign planet for that long must have had effects on her biology. Jane Foster wasn’t very accommodating with our research after her visit to Asgard...”

Thor clears his throat.

“Fury first,” the other agrees finally, taking you by the arm. “Thank you, Thor. We will be in touch.”

The two start to pull you away but Thor stops them.

“I’d like to say goodbye,” he says in a harsh tone. The two suited representatives step away, before first exchanging looks, giving you both the privacy of distance.

“I know this isn’t easy for you,” Thor says softly, his hand rested gently on your shoulder. “And I know my brother can be... difficult. But he is bound to turn around. He will...”

“Stop.” Your eyes meet before your hands reach up to tug at the collar, still around your neck, chocking you. You rip it off in one swift motion. “Give my regards to Loki.” The choker falls into his outstretched hand. His eyes are set low upon the token of your former ownership.

You turn to Sif and bow slightly. A simple salutation before you follow the two suited men into the depths of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s central headquarters. You had only ever been to their offices, disguised as accounting firms in the middle of the city. But this was somewhere else entirely, somewhere unfamiliar. Not that it matters where you are. Not that anything matters.

They lead you into a small interrogation room and you could swear they mean to force information from you. Though, you’ve been more than compliant thus far.

One of the suited men hands you a glass of water before they both leave you to the quiet of the gray room. The twitching of the light becomes an odd distraction against the nagging complaints inside your heart.

The door reopens moments later and the famed Nick Fury steps inside, flanked by another agent. Both armed with guns visible at their waists. _As if I’m some sort of threat. As if I could charge out of here if I wanted to._

_Where would I go if I tried?_

“Welcome back,” the woman says as she peers up from her clipboard, likely containing a briefing of who you are and how you had arrived there. The basic rundown Thor had provided the operatives.

You stare at them, eyes devoid of feeling as you sip on the glass of water.

“How exactly did a simple research assistant find herself on Asgard?” Fury asks, flipping a chair around to sit backwards, facing you. His gloved hands grip the backing of the chair as he stares at you through one narrowed eye.

Like Loki if you hadn’t have healed him...

You realize then that there is no real reason to lie. So you tell them. You tell them both everything. About Sakaar. About Galen and Magnus. And about Loki.

You exclude the more intimate details that don’t need to be documented and dispersed across all of S.H.I.E.L.D., marked as “intel”. As if that’s all your relationship had ever been: intelligence gathering.

They seem more than pleased by the information alone. But insist, as you suspect, that you see a medical examiner. To confirm nothing suspicious has been brought back with you from either Sakaar or Asgard.

The woman leads you upstairs to a blinding room, made of pure white. Every surface shimmers under the flurescent lighting, a pristine display of sanitary perfection. Another woman costumed in a long pale lab coat emerges from the back, the wires of her glasses set against the top of her head, along with her hair, arranged in a messy bun.

“Maria!” She exclaims. “I rarely get to see you during working hours. What brings you...”

The woman’s eyes drift past the woman and settle onto you. She smiles brightly. “Hello!”

“May I introduce you to Dr...”

“Please, call me Sofia,” the woman interrupts, extending her hand to you. You reach forward and shake her hand in greeting.

“We will need you to conduct a full medical examination,” the other woman, Maria, explains. You eye her name tag. Director Hill. You make note not to address her on a first name basis. Not yet. Not like the doctor.

“I trust you read the briefing,” Director Hill adds.

“Always so serious, Maria,” Sofia teases. “Of course I read the briefly. Spring Break in Asgard, was it?”

“And a new location she calls Sakaar.”

“Sounds exciting!” Sofia leads you to sit on a examination table. She pulls the stethoscope from around her neck to start checking major vital signs. The cold metal pressed to your heart causes you to think of him unintentionally.

“It wasn’t exactly a vacation,” you mutter.

“I’ll need to get a better look at you, sweetheart,” Sofia says. She hands you a flimsy hospital robe, no thicker than a tissue. You turn around and slowly remove your dress, your last reminder of Asgard. Director Hill lingers by the closed door but refuses to leave. Perhaps some S.H.I.E.L.D. protocol requires a witness for this sort of thing. But you had lost your shame a long time ago. It doesn’t matter who is in the room.

Before you can reach for the robe, Sofia’s hand comes down over your back.

“What is this?” Her fingers trace over the last of the scar between your shoulder blades. “Have you always had this?”

“I was stabbed on Sakaar,” you admit. You hear the director quickly scribbling notes behind you.

“And these?” Her fingers hover over your wrists, indicating the remaining bruises left by Magnus.

“Souvenirs from my wonderful vacation.”

Sofia’s eyes soften as she helps you into the robe.

“I’m just going to do a quick scan,” she says. “It won’t hurt, I promise. Perhaps just a slight tingling sensation.”

She wheels over a carted machine. Attached to the side is a small metal rod, like electricity conductor. Sofia holds it up over the top of your head and beams of radioactive light shine down over you, a medical halo. She is right, it does tingle a bit, as if microscopic needles are dancing over your exposed skin. She moves the device across the length of your body, swirling over your arms and wrapping around your stomach. It takes mere seconds before a small buzzing sound triggers the screen to life at her side, indicating that the scan has completed.

She hovers over the screen, taking notes as she parses through the information.

“Anything alarming?” Director Hill asks at the door, slowly moving forward.

“Perfectly healthy,” Sofia says, turning to you with a kind smile.

But as she turns her attention back to the screen, something causes her mental  gears to start spinning. She touches the screen and a printout begins to churn out from below the machine. She darts across the room to sort though a filing cabinet and retrieves from its depths a thick envelope.

“I’ve seen these vitals before...” she mutters, thumbing through its contents.

“Here!” She exclaims, pulling out a piece of paper for you to see. Director Hill is immediately at her side, peering over her shoulder. Sofia holds the fresh printout up against the retrieved record. To compare.

“See this here,” she says to the director. “This line. It’s not quite the same as the sample we gathered from him but it’s clearly been influence by alien DNA...”

“What exactly does that mean?” The director’s eyes are wide as she scans the documents.

Sofia clears her throat, dropping the papers to look down at you with that same understanding smile plastered to her face.

“Did anything... interesting happen while you were in Asgard?”

You raise an eyebrow in question. “Define interesting.”

“Oh, you know... a couple of drinks, a good looking man, a soft bed...”

“Are you asking if I had sex?”

“More specifically, did you have sex with an Asgardian?” The Director clarifies.

Your eyes widen.

“Thor did bring her here,” Director Hill adds, turning to the doctor. “Our operatives said their parting seemed...emotionally charged.”

“I did not have sex with Thor!” You shout, the blood rushing to your already heated cheeks.

“She’s embarrassed, Maria,” Sofia whispers. “Can’t you see the poor girl is heartbroken?”

And perhaps you are, but not over the God of Thunder. Not over the golden haired Adonis the rest of New York seemed so smitten by. Your heart had been shattered by another God. The God they fear.

“What do my vitals say exactly that has you so convinced?” You blurt out.

“We did a reading of Thor when he first arrived on Earth,” Sofia explains. “Asgardian DNA is quite unique from ours. Alien. It contains traits that clearly stand out. There would be no mistaking him for a human, no matter how similar he may appear on the outside. It all comes down to chemical composition.”

Sofia sits down beside you on the bed, her hand resting over yours.

“Was any protection used?” She asks softly.

Not once. Not one time did you and Loki ever even consider the possible consequences. Were there some strange strains of alien STDs you should have been aware of? It’s not like you had to worry about unwanted pregnancy. Some of the pleasure slaves had assured you early in your days at Sakaar that the Grandmaster had all the food laced with a sort of spermicide. Apparently, with the ever growing hoards of arrivals falling onto Sakaar daily, he did not have the time or patience to be worrying about the effects of overpopulation. So he had his people effectively sterilized.

But on Asgard...

“When was your last period?”

You blink at her slowly. “I don’t... I don’t remember.”

She doesn't need to speak for you to know what she’s about to confirm. What fear you harbored inside your heart the minute the rod wafted over your stomach.

“You’re pregnant.”


	40. IV. DNA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I’ll take this hiatus seriously at some point... ;) but when I have content, why not provide some extra love?

You try to return to some state of normality at work, but with your new job, it’s hard to settle in. They’ve promoted you to Field Operative, thanks to the information you’ve provided about Sakaar. An Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. officially. No more research. No more boring assignments in the midst of a myriad of likewise glowing laptops. Real, actual work. What you’d always wanted.

But somehow, you can’t bring yourself to feel happy about it. Or about anything, really. 

As they make it very clear, you are nowhere near ready for anything in the field. You would need to undergo rigorous training: weaponry, stealth, intel. All the basics. And despite your tales of killing a man in Asgard, they hardly seem impressed. One man, a prisoner, held little merit against the thousands of enemies they’d taken down collectively.

Your training would be shortened, a cliff-notes version. Considering you had about five months of workable time before...

You stand in front of the full length mirror in your apartment, staring at the barely noticeable bump. It had been a month since Sofia told you the news, and that long since the life inside you had started to grow. You run your hands over your stomach.

His child. You are going to bear his child. And you’d be stuck with the living reminder of how much you still love him. And how he’d abandoned you.

You’d asked Sofia about ways to remove it, to terminate the pregnancy, but S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn’t hear of it. They wouldn’t allow it. Seeing as your offspring would be the first human-Asgardian hybrid. And they reveled in the possibilities that brought to life.

And a part of you rejected the idea as well. Your child. His child. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

You are late for work, the bouts of morning sickness wrecking havoc over your attempts to reestablish a normal routine. The cool caress of porcelain your new companion. Sofia assures you everything is perfectly normal. That even this early on, your symptoms are to be expected. And perhaps worsen over the course of the pregnancy. But really, who knew what the mutt growing inside of you was capable of doing to your body?

“Everyone thinks I’m carrying Thor’s child,” you groan, sulking into Sofia’s office after lunch. And they did. News spread like wildfire amongst the organization and your coworkers did not take the news too kindly. Not when Thor’s ever growing fan club had its roots in S.H.I.E.L.D. Just like that for good ol’ Steve.

_A preference for blondes._

Your friends were likewise inclined toward a more judgmental reaction. Unmarried and knocked up after parading around the galaxy like a renegade whore...

They’d stopped returning your phone calls a week ago.

“Well, you have to tell them the full story at some point,” Sofia replies, her heeled legs propped up on top of her desk. “I mean, I for one would really like to know...”

You glare at her over the decaffeinated tea she forced into your hand upon entry. Coffee was strictly off limits, she said.

“And not because of my job,” she clarifies. “But because I’m your friend. Because I can sense you’ve left gaps in your retelling of events.”

You plop down into a chair across from her, setting the mug of tea atop her desk. A friend... that was something you desperately needed. At least to share the burden. To share your fears, so you weren’t so locked up in your own mind, held prisoner by the swirling dread.

“Fine, what do you want to know?”

“Who the father is, you dunce!” She shouts at you but laughs regardless. “Was it a one time thing or were you getting it on every night?”

“Not every night...” you mutter. “But quite often.”

And not just Asgard, as she suspected. But on Sakaar. On that horrid trash planet that you still dreamed of every night. Your darkened recall morphing it into a sort of safe haven, a refuge for that twisted sort of love.

“So not a one night stand,” she says, smiling. “Was he that good that you came back for seconds?” She smirks, adding “And perhaps thirds?”

_Phenomenal. Earth-shattering. Mind-altering._

“He had his talents,” you reply, simply.

“Best you ever had?”

You swallow hard. Could you tell her? Could you tell her that he had been your only lover? But it is as if the truth is plastered over your face regardless. Your pained expression had become a permanent placeholder against your pale complexion.

“Oh, honey,” she says softly. “This can’t be easy for you. Have you even gone outside your apartment since you’ve been back?”

You shake your head. Save for the necessities of the post office and the grocery store, you’d come home from work each day and promptly curl up in your bed, imagining you were back on Sakaar, of all places. Back in his bed. Back in...

“That’s it.” Sofia stands and pulls out a small slip of paper from her desk drawer. She strolls around the desk, sits on the ledge, and slides the paper towards you.

“Tony throws summer masquerades every year,” she says as you eye the invite, inlaid with gold embellishing. “Something about an auction for charity, a show of gratitude toward our sponsors, a celebration of our fiscal earnings... blah, blah, blah... I just call it an excuse to drink for free and get a little dolled up.”

Your eyes settle on the date at the bottom, the lettering raised from the parchment. Your thumb traces over the numbers mindlessly.

“It’s tomorrow?” You say slowly.

Sofia nods. “Don’t worry, I have an outfit you can wear. Nothing too revealing, I promise.”

Her hand rests over yours. “You need some entertainment in your life,” she says with a smile. “Come with me. You can be my date. Normally lower operatives aren’t invited to these sorts of events. Reap the benefits of our friendship.”

You don’t have the energy to argue with her. Either you attend the masquerade or you stay home with a box of oreos and a jar of peanut butter. Both of which you’d subsequently throw up the next morning anyway.

She drives you to her apartment the next day, though calling it an apartment feels like an insult. She lives in a penthouse on the twenty-fifth floor of a lush complex that flanks two department stores and a courtyard park below. Every element in her home is perfectly set in place, every vase, every lamp, every coffee table book, like it was all pulled straight out of a magazine. As if it wasn’t truly lived in.

You hang your coat in the entry way and slowly walk inside, the full length windows illuminating a perfect cityscape. S.H.I.E.L.D. paid her well. Phenomenally well. As did Stark Industries. Both of which she worked for simultaneously. You suddenly feel intimated by your new friend, clearly having been blissfully ignorant to how high ranking she really was.

You settle into a cushioned chair at her vanity, as instructed, staring at the ghostly reflection gazing back at you. Devoid of makeup, devoid of life.

“Hm, I can’t decide if your complexion is more autumn or summer...” Sofia mumbles as she sorts through a bag of cosmetics. “Perhaps spring...”

She begins to paint your face with layer after layer of foundation, powder, and blush. And you sit patiently allowing her to make magic of your complexion.

“Now that I have you alone,” she says with a mischievous smirk. “I want some dirt, some good old fashioned Sex in the City details.”

You sigh and smile despite yourself.

“How’d he do it?” She asks. “How’d he seduce you?”

“We were a bit drunk, if I’m honest...”

“That’s usually how it starts.” She pulls out an eye shadow palette and begins to brush gently over your eye lids. A dusting of the powder to bring you back to life.

“I think I almost got into bed with Bruce Banner once over a bottle of tequila,” she admits. “I wonder if he lets a little bit of the Hulk out in the bedroom...”

You giggle at the thought of it.

“So was it just the alcohol, or was it something more?”

“I’d always secretly thought he was attractive,” you admit. And you had. While everything you’d seen and read told you to hate him, to discard him as a miscreant, a murderer, there was something that lured you in. That dark mystique.

“Are you going to tell me his name?”

You look down at the array of eye shadow she has set down between strokes. Of the rich emerald greens she has selected for her masterpiece. Your eyes widen.

“Why green?” You stutter.

“To match your dress.”

Sofia rises and from the depths of her walk-in closet, she retrieves a gown in a mesmerizing emerald chiffon. The glint of gold beading at the empire waist catches your eye. As if she knew, as if she always suspected.

“What? Do you not like it?”

You glare at her. “How long have you known?”

She lays the dress out on the bed and sits beside it, leaning forward on her knees.

“I’ve seen Asgardian DNA. I’ve studied it, dissected and pieced it back together,” she explains. “Hell, I spent the majority of last year writing a dissertation about the many differences between Asgardian and human DNA. Just for shits and giggles. And what I saw in your scan wasn’t Asgardian. Not really.”

Your eyes widen. At least that removes any fear that Magnus may still be the father... That he may still live within you. You shutter at having even been living with that sort of risk until now. But if it wasn’t Asgardian...

“I did an examination of a prisoner once,” she explains. “It was years ago. I took a blood sample. Totally routine. I thought I’d see the same results as what we had catalogued from Thor. But it was something otherworldly, influenced by Asgardian DNA but it had traits all its own.

“When I did your scan, I knew immediately where I’d seen that sort of anomaly before. But I didn’t want Maria to know that. I wanted her to think it was just some nameless Asgardian. Honestly, I didn’t think she’d jump so quickly to the conclusion that it may be Thor...”

She rises and gently falls to her knees at your lap.

“We can’t tell anyone he is the father,” she says softly. “He is still an enemy to S.H.I.E.L.D. Still on our hit list. If they knew, it Fury knew... I’d worry about your safety as well.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” you mutter, turning away. _Say it. Say it and confirm my fear_

“Loki,” Sofia says. “He is the father, isn’t he?”

Your hands begin to tremble. Hearing her say it made it reality. Made it tangible. You lift your hands to rest against the small indication that there is another life incubating within you. The small, barely noticeable bump.

“Did he hurt you?” Sofia asks softly. “Did he force you? The bruises I saw on your body that day...”

“No,” you shake your head. “No, Gods no, he never ... what do you mean he isn’t Asgardian?”

“I’m not sure, honestly... it’s as if he is, but he isn’t. This could be something beyond our understanding. Something new.”

You go to rest your face within your open palms but Sofia swats your hands away.

“You’ll ruin your makeup,” she scolds but her face quickly softens into a warm smile.

“Let’s just enjoy tonight,” she whispers. “Let’s dance, eat some good food and not worry about the consequences of tomorrow. Can you do that?”

You nod though you stare past her at the beautiful gown draped over her bed.

The rich emerald green. His colors. Held to your body like a permanent marker that you’d always belong to him, even while he would never return.


	41. IV. Masquerade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiatus? What hiatus? :P
> 
> I swear I’ll drop off the face of the planet for a bit. But for now, anticipate 1-2 more chapter postings before I do.

The masquerade is set in one of the city’s most-coveted and exclusive resorts, the core event in the grand ballroom, with festivities bleeding out into the many surrounding rooms and bars.

You feel out of place as you enter with Sofia at your arm, a sheep amongst wolves, coming in for the slaughter. The room is a thing of grandeur, of opulence you’ve only ever seen in film. Chandeliers and champagne. Red velvet and violins. Sofia fits right in amongst the socialites buzzing around the room. She is beautiful, of course. Radiating blue silk frames her curves, her breasts out in full display thanks to the corset style of the gown. Her blonde hair is pinned up in delicate ringlets. Her mask a mesh of ribbon and pearls. A Goddess more fit for an Asgardian Prince than you do ever dream of being. She insisted you wear your hair down, adding old Hollywood waves that cascade over your shoulder, leaving your back bare to the elements. A bright red lipstick is swept over your ever-present pout.

“Would you cheer up?” She whispers, leading you toward one of the many bars set up inside. “I’ll need a stiff drink if you are going to sulk all night.”

“I’m fine,” you insist. “Just a little nauseous.”

“Don’t blame the baby for your bad attitude,” Sofia scowls. “We can get you some ginger ale.”

She leans over the wooden bar and signals for the bartender. You turn around and stare off into the crowd beyond. You reach up to adjust the golden lace that serves as your mask, having refused the other offerings Sofia had laid out on her bed. This one barely conceals your identity. Not that you care who recognizes you. No one even seems bothered enough to ask. All of them distracted by good conversation and better alcohol. Like the evening entertainment on Sakaar. Like the beautiful denizens of Asgard. But here, everyone’s face is hidden behind their masks.

No one is truly who they appear to be.

Your eyes drift around the room, studying the many styles of disguise, when your aim settles on a splash of crimson red. A horned devil mask covering the face of a man who seems to return your gaze from across the room. Though, you can not see his eyes beneath the plaster. Only his lips remain uncovered, curved up into a smirk that seems to be meant for you alone.

It unsettles you.

You turn to Sofia who is already handing you an iced glass of ginger ale, as promised.

“Are you alright?” She asks. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“More like the devil,” you reply, nodding your head toward the demonic admirer across the room.

“Well isn’t that eerie,” she mutters. “If he wants to talk to us, he should just come over instead of slithering around the edge of the room.” She tips the bartender and slowly sips on her pink martini. She leads you toward the dance floor, leaving the devilish man behind you.

“Sofia!”

You both turn to see Tony Stark, unmasked, strutting towards you. An entourage flanks either side.

“Tony.” She smiles brightly, extending her hand for him to softly kiss her knuckles. You notice her slightly jerk away as he does.

“You’ve outdone yourself this year,” Sofia compliments. “Or should I say Pepper has outdone herself...The violins were a nice touch.”

“Apparently they are all the rage right now,” Tony says rolling his eyes. “Who’s your date?”

He grins brightly at you but you’ve already held out your hand for him to shake, not kiss. You introduce yourself simply. No title. No “Agent”.

“Haven’t seen you before,” he comments. “Are you employed by me? Or are you new to S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“Not exactly new,” you mumble. “I used to get your coffee...”

“You brought an intern?” Someone spits out behind him.

“Former intern,” you correct, peering around him to eye the source of the comment. You don’t need the mask removed to know it is Natasha Romanoff hidden behind the red swirls of plaster. “I’ve since been promoted.”

“Ah, so you’re the new operative the office has been buzzing about,” she says moving forward to stand beside Tony. “I’m sure it’s a weird transition. Are you settling in alright?”

“Enough.” You sip on the ginger ale, your stomach turning loops beneath the chiffon.

“I hear new recruits are scheduled to be at the gun range next week,” Natasha says. “I was planning on stopping by myself. There hasn’t been much action lately. Could use a bit of practice. Everything’s been... a bit too quiet, honestly.”

“Well, not for long,” Tony pipes in. “Not with a new baby Avenger baking in the oven.”

Your eyes go wide before you turn away to hide the blush of your cheeks.

“Is it customary to do baby showers in Asgard? Or maybe they do some sort of weird naming ritual there.” He turns to Natasha, whispering, “We will have to call in Thor to get his opinion. The father should have a say in the matter.”

“Really, Tony,” Sofia growls. “Now is not the time to perpetuate rumors. False rumors, might I add.”

“Yes, yes, you are right. We are all here to have a good time,” Tony comments. His gaze shifts down onto the glass in your hand. “You drinking a gin and tonic, minus the gin? Wouldn’t want baby Thor to get tipsy in there.”

You chug the drink and shove the empty glass into Sofia’s hand before storming off, refusing to exchange anymore false pleasantries. Otherwise you might hurl your stomach onto his freshly pressed suit.

You lose yourself amongst the shifting crowd as a new dance begins. You’ve seen it before, a swaying exchange of dance partners. Each person starts with one partner before quickly swirling into the arms of another. An exchange of hands, a swirling rhythm across the dance floor.

Before you can protest, you are pulled into the chaos, caught in the arms of your own dance partner.

The unknown man smiles down at you behind a simple white mask, a glint of his bright blue eyes peers through the companion cat-eye holes.

“You look beautiful,” he compliments. And you know by his smile that he is actually being genuine. His voice is kind, a gentle contrast to the bitter tone of Tony Stark from just a moment before.

But you turn away, refusing to look at him, focusing in on the flow of the dance. You try to let the distant music hypnotize you.

“I’m not one for dancing,” he confesses in a whisper. “I always find myself stepping on someone’s foot.”

“Then why pull me onto the dance floor?” You blurt out. _You sound like a bitch. Stop sounding like a bitch._

You turn to look at him, expecting him to look displeased but he gives you a sad smile instead.

“I saw my colleagues talking to you,” he says. “I wasn’t exactly happy with the things they were saying.”

“Colleagues?”

“I remember you,” he adds with a brighter grin. “You brought in coffee when we used to have intel briefings with S.H.I.E.L.D. You had all our orders memorized.”

“Cream and two sugars...” you gap at him.

“Congratulations, by the way.” The room spins as the first part of the dance comes to a close. “On the promotion,” he clarifies, his grip loosening from your hand as you swirl toward your next partner.

“Thank you, Steve,” you say. And for the first time in a long while, you smile. And truly mean it.

Your next partner is some no-nothing sponsor who blabbers on about his homes in Milan, Paris, Dubai... you could swear you doze off during the course of the one-sided conversation, the violins lulling you toward much needed sleep.

But to your blessing, the music swirls higher into another interval, signaling the next exchange, and you are thrown into the awaiting arms of your third and final partner.

The man in the devil mask.

His hand snakes around your waist, as if he were intimate with each delicate curve, pulling you flesh to his body. Your fingers interlock together. The feeling of his skin is too familiar.

You study the curve of his thin lips below the bright red plaster. The adorning horns jotted up toward the heavens.

He spins you around the dance floor and for a moment, the rest of the room fades away. For a moment, you could swear you are somewhere else. In the gardens of Asgard. You can even smell the jasmine. Like that night on the balcony...

Your hands tremble as he pulls you closer and you breathe in the smell of him. The familiar mix of frosted evergreen and musk. The chill of his skin held to your hand, as a means of steadying you, only causes the quivering of your body to worsen.

And as you attempt to pull away, his face leans forward. His lips hover above your own as he whispers.

“Hello, pet.”


	42. IV. Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written to “Monster” by Lady Gaga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this is a really good chapter to end on. As I stated before, I may update sporadically throughout the rest of March so keep an eye out. As always, thanks for reading!

You strike him so hard the devil mask is sent flying across the polished marble. It bounces and settles, the devil horns propping it up against the floor. His dark hair cascades into view while his smirk remains plastered to his face like a permanent mask as he reaches up to hold the point of impact.

“I’ve miss you too,” he says with a sigh, turning up to meet your gaze. A gaze alit with fire.

“Get out,” You order through gritted teeth. “Get the fuck out!”

The music halts and the attendees around you slowly turn their attention toward you. As if drawn to the drama. Drawn to the swirls of rage seeping out of your pores like boiled steam.

It had been so long since you felt anything. A walking shadow of your former self. Unable to feel joy, unable to feel pain. Numb to the world spinning around you. But with Loki standing before you, the rage surges through your veins with renewed purpose. Consuming all reason until it defines you. You are rage and rage alone.

“Really?” His eyes are wide. “This is the sort of greeting I get after being apart of a month?”

“Because you abandoned me, you asshole!” You shout. “Because you were the one who sent me away!”

You are crying. Why are you crying? _Goddamn hormones. Goddamn pregnancy._

He reaches for you but you slap away his hand.

“No,” you say in a whimper. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

Sofia pushes her way through the crowd until she finds you both. Her arm protectively locks around your trembling shoulders. Her eyes burrow into Loki.

“If you are as clever as you claim to be, you will make a quick exit,” she warns. “Before you are seen by anyone who matters.”

“I don’t care if they see me,” he growls. The whites of his eyes are threaded with glowing red veins. “I’m not here for them.”

“Then why _are_ you here?” You bark.

He turns to set his gaze upon you. In that month, those perfect emerald eyes had haunted every waking dream. And in that time, you had sworn that you’d seen him amongst every crowd, in every fleeting passerby. But it was never him. Never Loki.

But now, he stands before you, gleaming of triumph and lacking of guilt.

He says your name in a whisper, triggering open the flood gates once more. You can almost feel the mascara running down your perfectly polished cheeks under the lace mask.

“Please,” you quiver. “Don’t.”

“Come with me,” he beckons, hand extended.

“No,” you manage to say. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

He reaches out and in one swift motion, yanks you out of Sofia’s loosened grasp. You eye Tony and Natasha pushing forward through the crowd. He holds you close, pressing into your back.

“That wasn’t a request,” he whispers harshly against your ear before the room goes up in a puff of smoke, the ballroom vanishing, only to be replaced by a much smaller, intimate setting.

He hasn’t taken you far. You can tell by the landscape outside the window that you are still in the hotel, just tucked away in one of the guest suites. Once the room stops spinning, you push out of his arms and make for the door.

But he has already blocked your exit.

“Stop trying to run, kitten,” he murmurs. “It isn’t going to work.”

“Why are you here, Loki?” You turn away from him, eyes set to the window, to the twinkling stars painted across the horizon. You plot the possibility of survival if you were to jump. If you were to soar through the cool air. You have to be at least twenty stories high, judging by the placement of the surrounding skyscrapers against the night sky. You’d likely hit the pavement with a splat. And your baby...

Loki comes up behind you but you reject his touch, shifting even further away.

“I came to see you,” he says in a cool whisper.

“Why bother?” You hold firmly to your elbows, praying you don’t vomit. Praying the sudden transport doesn’t send you reeling into the toilet.

“I don’t want to see you,” you growl. “I hate you.”

“Don’t try to lie to me,” he says. “You’ve never been very good at it.”

You fall onto the edge of the bed, your knees knocking together. You untie the mask and toss it aside.

“You are shaking like a leaf,” he comments. You tilt your head up to look at him and see that his eyes are wide with concern. He reaches his hand out to you and once again you swat away his touch, as if he is a buzzing gnat.

“I’m fine!”

“No, you’re not,” he insists, settling down onto the floor at your feet. His hands settle onto your knees to hold them in place. “What’s wrong? Besides the obvious...”

“Nothing!” You scream. “I’m just...”

That is when you feel it, the sting of bile, creeping up your throat and pushing onto the back of your tongue. You kick him out of the way and lunge toward the washroom, hurling into the porcelain ring. It burns your throat as it pulls up from your stomach and out through your open mouth. You grip tight to the edge, the beautiful emerald gown swirling around the tile floor.

A beautiful vomiting princess.

Loki slowly enters the room, falling down beside you. As he reaches forward to hold your hair back, you can’t manage to push him away. All energy reserves held for the excavation of your innards. You gasp for air as you finally reach completion. You attempt to wipe the vomit from your lips with the back of your hand when Loki reaches forward instead, cleaning your mouth with a damp towel.

“Too much to drink?” He scolds, dapping the edge over the corners of your mouth.

You glare up at him as you struggle to stand.

“I haven't had anything to drink.” You push past him back into the bedroom, collapsing against the bed.

Loki hands you a glass of water before falling in beside you. You refuse to take it, letting the burn of bile stay as a mark of your resistance.

“Then why else were you just hurling into the toilet?”

You curl up into your newly default position, formulated over these past few weeks. The curve of your body is set in against your bent knees, held close to your chest. You nuzzle into the pillow, gripping onto it for support.

How could you possibly tell him the truth when you could hardly even look at him?

“Pet, please just tell me,” he whispers, reading through your hesitation. His cool hand rests against your shoulder, which is itself clammy and chilled from retching.

“I’m not your pet!” You growl, shaking off his touch. “I’m not your anything.”

He takes hold of your chin, turning your face towards him. 

“Oh, but you are mine,” he says. “From that moment I took you on Sakaar until the day you die, you are mine. And I have the right to know what’s going on.”

You could laugh if you didn’t feel like crying. If you didn’t feel like dying.

“You really want to know?” Your gaze burrows into him before you add through gritted teeth, “I’m pregnant.”

“You’re... what?”

His eyes are wide, all mischief washed from his lips, now set into a thin line. All color has drained from his face, including his eyes that appear as two solid pupils dilated with shock, lacking his trademark irises.

“I’m pregnant,” you repeat. “Does that please you, _Master_?”

You spit into his face, willing it to become acidic and burn his perfectly beautiful skin. But it doesn’t, and you turn away, back into the pillow.

He barely even reacts to the splitle now coating his cheek. But he reaches forward, his fingers brushing over your stomach.

“You’re pregnant,” he repeats. “With my child?” There is an uncharacteristic tone lurking beneath the rumble of his voice. One of delight, one of pride.

One of happiness.

His full palm rests against your stomach just above your pelvis and you swear you can hear him sigh. You swear you see those lips curl into a sort of smile.

“Or Thor’s as the rest of the world is set to believe,” you grumble. “I can’t tell them the truth.”

“Why not?” He scowls, his voice vibrating with annoyance. “Are you that ashamed of me? Are you that disgusted that the father of your child is a monster?”

The pain you see pass over his face pulls you up off the pillow. Your hand reaches up, out of habit, out of instinct, to rest against his jawline, in a place that feels so familiar, so right beneath the palm of your hand. But you jerk away before you can make contact with his skin.

“Because they’d kill the father if they knew,” you say. “Because to them you _are_ a monster.”

“And to you... What am I to you?”

Your eyes meet and for a brief moment you forget how you’ve left things, how you stood before the bifrost and saw him standing at a distance, letting you go. You forget all the pain you’ve harbored inside your heart, broken and torn. The husk of your former self sulking around from one place to the next as a reminder of what he’d done.

For a moment, you just see the man you love so dearly. And your heart breaks once more, a brand new tare.

You pull away and turn back toward the window.

“You are the father of this child,” you say. “And nothing more.”

His hands grasp over your wrists, pinning you to the bed as he hovers over you, knees held to either side of your legs. The heat in his eyes threatens to burn right into the very fabric of your soul.

“Say it again,” He growls just above your lips. “Tell me you hate me.”

You barely hesitate.

“I hate you,” you groan. “I hate you, Loki.”

“Good.”

His lips collide violently into yours, triggering the onslaught: a battle of teeth and tongues, of biting lips, scratching backs, and pulling hair. Of muttered insults scattered amongst moans of pleasure as his fingers quickly find your growing wetness beneath the bellowed gatherings of your dress.

“Fuck you,” you mutter against his lips as his slender digits swiftly slide inside, past the lace underwear he has pulled off to the side. He quickly earns himself a moan, one you attempt to stifle behind a bit lip. He doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of your pleasure. Not now. Not ever again.

“Hate me,” he says before sinking his teeth into the tender flesh of your neck. You gasp a moan. “Hate everything I am. Hate me for what I’ve done to you. Hate me for what I plan yet to do.”

You squirm underneath him and manage to slip from his grasp, enough to find yourself on top of him. Your thighs buckle in around his waist, tight and constraining. Your hands quickly make a mess of his shirt, tearing it open with enough force to cause a few loosened buttons to fumble onto the floor. You pin him down by his wrists to the bed. Mimicking what he has done to you. You lean over him and bite hard into his chest, sucking and licking until you’ve left swollen welts running down the length of his exposed skin. A trail of your enraged lust. He groans but makes little attempt to release himself from your hold, as you know he is more than capable of doing. Of using his God-like strength to dominate you, to take back his control. But he doesn’t. And he won’t.

You immediately reach for his pants, releasing his monster of a cock from its cage.

“I hate you,” you say again before plunging yourself down over the length of his sex, your core already dripping in anxious anticipation. You growl to disguise another unwanted moan. “You gave up on me.” _Thrust_. “You gave up on us.”

You grind into him with enough force to break you both apart from the seams. To feel both pleasure and pain from him. As you always did.

_Let this break me. Let this tear me apart._

His gaze matches your own, a mix of lust and overdue rage, as you bounce up and down on his cock.

And he looks too satisfied.

You slap him again, as hard as the first time, causing his head to jerk to the side. The smack immediately causes a chain reaction, pulling a smirk up over his deceitful lips. The tears well up in your eyes as you position your palm, a threat to repeat the action once more. But with his freed hand, he grips your wrist before impact. His other hand wiggles free. His gaze burrows into you as both hands slide up your legs, caressing the tender flesh at your waist.

“The mother of my child,” he growls.

His palm presses in against your stomach. “And this, the product of our love.”

“Shut up!” You blink and the tears fall. “Don’t you dare speak of love right now.”

“Make me shut up.” He grabs your hands and places them around his throat. You could tighten your grip, you realize. He is giving you permission. Permission to hurt him. To maim him. 

But your hands remain loose around him. The pulse of his heart throbbing against your palms.

“Hate me all you want,” he growls. “But I’ve never stopped loving you.”

You halt all movement, held frozen in time above him.

“Then why send me away?” You mutter, your hands sliding down his neck to settle against his bare chest. “Why discard me like trash? After everything we’d been through? After...”

“I was afraid,” he says, his eyes hold steady. “I was afraid of losing you. Not for lack of love. But because of what I am. Because of the destruction that follows my path.”

Both of his hands settle in against the curve of your thighs. His thumbs gently caress the indent of your hip bones.

“I’d rather you be alive to hate me like this...than have you dead for love of me.”

You shift off of him, both of you left unsatisfied and throbbing, as you fumble for the door, straightening out the emerald skirt and the remnants of your smeared makeup.

This time, he doesn’t try to stop you. He rests against the edge of the bed, buckling his pants in an attempt to conceal his still-hard sex beneath the dark fabric. He ruffles his hair, a mess of gripped hands and pillowed friction.

Your hand wraps around the door handle as you look back at him one last time.

“I don’t want to see you again,” you warn in a harsh whisper. Your throat still burns. Burns of bile and betrayal.

He gazes up at you, hands held to his knees.

“I can promise you nothing,” he replies.

“You never did.”

You slam the door behind you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed writing this a little too much. Angsty sex is too fun.


	43. IV. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Posting in celebration of hitting 100 bookmarks! While some of those are secret... you know who you are you sneaky readers :P **
> 
> I swear this is the last one for while :P I have a problem, clearly. I have chapter 53 started as well so I’ll have plenty to post for you when I get back :) as always thank you for reading!

You stumble through the hotel in your too-high heels, quietly muttering a curse before sliding them off to proceed barefoot down the carpeted hall. You dangle them by their strips at your side.

_Goddamnit, this hotel is huge._

Finally, you find your way to the ballroom, where Sofia is standing with Natasha just beyond the doorway. Sofia looks distraught, her mask gone and the remaining tendrils of her hair loose and unpinned, cascading over her shoulders. When she turns and sees you approaching, she lunges for you, capturing your fragile frame in the cage of her embrace.

“Gods, sweetheart, I was so worried!” She smooths back your hair, smudging away the remnants of mascara from under your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter. “But I’m fine. Really.”

Her brows fold into a scowl. “You’re not fine,” she whispers. “You’ve been crying. What was he even doing here?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know...”

“Are you alright?” Natasha comes up behind you both, her mask discarded. “Sofia told us what happened.”

Your eyes widen as you meet Sofia’s. “How that scumbag ex-boyfriend of yours showed up tonight,” she says smoothly. “Tried to make a rather inappropriate move on you on the dance floor before you slapped him and ran off.”

She places a shawl over your shoulders before locking it in place with her arm. “I should really be taking her home,” she says to Natasha. “The poor girl has had a rough night.”

Natasha nods. “Of course.” She adds as you walk past, “I’ll see you at the range Monday, right kid?”

You barely look at her as Sofia leads you out of the ballroom and toward a taxi parked out front, waiting like a chariot to carry you away. You are both quiet as you drive off to your apartment. She is the first one to break the silence.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asks softly. Her hands rest over yours.

Your grip tightens around a gathering of the chiffon material.

“He can’t just waltz back here as if nothing happened,” You say after a moment of renewed silence. “He can’t just expect me to be his.... whatever I was again.”

“Do you still love him?” She asks.

You look up and catch the taxi driver staring at you through the rear view mirror. He quickly looks away before you can even make out the color of his eyes.

“You do, don’t you?”

You look up at Sofia, your bottom lip quivering.

“Of course, you do,” she says softly, holding onto your hand tightly. “Hearts are strange, fickle little organs.”

She stares out the taxi window.

“When I was your age, I fell in love with the wrong sort of man too,” she says, as if to the reflective glass. “He was cruel, and conceded. But I loved him all the same. We had a few very wonderful months before he broke my heart.”

She turns and smiles your way. “And seeing him everyday is just as painful as it was back then.”

 _Tony_. You recall the way he kissed her hand. The way she jerked away.

“I’m sorry.” It’s all you can think to say.

“Don’t be,” she replies with a pained smile. “It wasn’t like we were soul mates. Just a summer fling.”

She reaches into her clutch and pulls out a handkerchief which she proceeds to rub under your eyes, marring the pristine linen with smudges of black mascara.

“Having only known you for little over a month now, I’m still surprised you fell for a guy like him,” she says with a small laugh. “The man must really make up for it in the bedroom.”

“It’s not like that,” you insist. “I felt like, overtime, we really grew to understand each other. I really left that I knew him better than anyone else. That I got to see a side of him he reserved... only for me.”

Sofia’s smile fades as she catches the taxi driver’s eyes once again at the rear view mirror.

“Hey, buddy! Eyes on the road!” she barks before returning to her task of removing bits of your mangled makeup.

“I do still love him,” you admit to her, suddenly. “But I hate him. I really hate him.”

“Of course you do, sweetie,” she whispers. “I did too. For a long time.”

The taxi pulls up to your apartment building and Sofia catches your hand before you can leave. “Do you want me to stay with you tonight?” She offers.

You shake your head. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

“Well you are going to meet me for brunch tomorrow,” she orders out the rolled down window. “I won’t take no for an answer, young lady. At the Blue Bird on Fifth, do you know where that is? 11 o’clock.”

You smile and step out of the taxi, handing her the borrowed shawl through the open window.

“Goodnight.”

You turn to leave when once again you see the taxi driver staring off after you. You can’t quite read the expression hinted beneath his hooded eyes. But it makes you shiver.

You hurry upstairs and slide into your apartment, dead-bolting the door behind you. You shimmy out of the gown, letting it gather into a heap on the wooden floor as you stroll toward the shower.

You stand beneath the scolding water, hoping to wash away all traces of his hands on your skin, of his lips against your neck. But the memory remains. And more regrettably, the pleasure you’d felt to have him back inside of you. The horrid realization of how you’d secretly longed for him still. Your fingers trail over the curve of your breasts as you imagine him there with you, finishing what he started.

You barely manage to dry yourself properly before you are on your bed, fingers pulsing in and out of your wet mound. The rhythm familiar, a musical cord played over the instrument of your sex. You know all the right notes to create a harmony. You throw your head back in a moan as your other hand grips and fondles at your hardened nipple.

Your eyes flutter open, gazing toward the doorway to your bedroom. In the darkness, you swear you can see him standing there, watching you. Watching you pleasure yourself. The thought pushes you towards release. You arch your hips toward his mirage.

“Loki,” you moan before your orgasm shatters through you. You collapse against the bed, spent. You slide your fingers from your slick folds and settle into the cool sheets. Like his caress against your back.

You curse yourself in frustration. For still needing to think of him to get off.

 _I’d rather you be alive to hate me like this...than have you dead for love of me_.

Did he think you were so fragile that you might crumble under the weight of his hand? Hadn’t you proven to him that you would make it through any trial if it meant he would be standing, waiting for you on the other side?

Hadn’t everything you’d done been enough to show him your love was worth all that pain?

You cradle your body into a spare pillow and push back your spinning thoughts to allow sleep to claim you.

You are already late for brunch before you even realize what time it is. You stumble out of your apartment, thankful that morning sickness, at least, was not the culprit for your tardiness. Just an all too pleasant dream...

You take the subway ten blocks over to the Sofia’s chosen breakfast spot, where she sits waiting for you at the patio sitting. The table scattered with empty champagne flutes.

“I was about to get a nice buzz,” she groans as you settle in across from her at the ironwork table. A waiter swings by to offer another mimosa but you shoo him away.

“Sleep well?” Sofia asks, sipping on coffee instead.

“Enough.” You reach for the menu, scanning for anything that isn’t labeled organic, non-gmo, vegan, locally-sourced ...

The waiter swings by again, the ever-present courtesy grin plastered beneath his curled mustache. “Toast,” you mutter. “Can I just get eggs and toast?”

“We have egg replacers and gluten-free bread,” he offers.

You groan and shove the menu into his hands, fingers held to your forehead.

“She’ll have avocado toast,” Sofia orders. “Same for me, please.”

The disgruntled waiter mutters complaints as he sulks away.

“You ok?” She asks, an eye brow raised inquisitively. “You are extra grumpy today.”

You sigh and settle back against the cushioned chair. “Just recovering from last night, I guess.”

She smiles behind the porcelain mug, held in her perfectly manicured hands.

“I did see you dancing with All American Boy.” She smirks.

“I like Steve,” you admit. “He was kind to me. Sweet...Unlike your asshole of an ex.”

“Tony doesn’t know how to handle awkward situations without his sarcasm,” she mutters. “So what happened when you left? Did he at least try to explain himself?”

“He did a lot of things,” you admit. “But providing me with any sort of clarity was not on his agenda.”

“Did you tell him?” She asks. “Did you tell him that you’re pregnant?”

You nod, hand slipping around a glass of water, eagerly lifting it to your lips.

“How’d he take it?”

“He seemed...” he seemed happy, you recall. He seemed to rejoice in the news that brought only fear into your heart. He had smiled even.

And there too was a glimmering part of you that wanted this child more than anything. That wanted the kind of life it promised. The life you’d dreamt of last night...

“Breakfast is served.” Plates of the green sludge smeared over bread are slid in front of you both. You turn to thank the waiter, to apologize, when you see a familiar smirk. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder who that mysterious taxi driver could have been...


	44. IV. Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Needed some cheering up today because wedding planning is beyond stressful, especially when your family is all crazy... so here is a premature hiatus posting for you all to ease my nerves. Enjoy!

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he says coolly.

“I swear to God, Loki, if you so much as get even an inch closer to me, I’ll ..”

“You’ll what?” He grins, his pearly whites out in full display. “You’ll fuck me again? I quite like that sort of threat, pet.”

He licks his lips, reveling in the name that now made your skin crawl. Sofia spits out a mouthful of coffee back into her mug.

“I do need to punish you for satisfying yourself without me last night,” he adds. “I never gave you permission to do that.”

Your eyes go wide as you jolt up from your seat.

“You didn’t dare...”

“Oh, but I did.” That smirk never leaves his lips. Not once. “I’ve missed that delicious look on your face when you...”

Your hand comes over his mouth.

“Not. Another. Word,” You warn through gritted teeth. “Not here.” He nods, once.

Sofia shoots a glance your way as if to ask if she should intervene. Tony likely still on her speed dial.

You subtly shake your head before dropping your hand from Loki’s lips, willing his mischievous smirk to return in full effect.  
  
“Shall I wine and dine you then?” He offers with a chuckle.

“No wine!” Sofia barks. “Or coffee. And I expect you to pay for my breakfast if you are going to steal away my brunch date...”

Loki tosses some gold coins onto the table, faces of an aged deity carved into one side. Asgardian currency. Sofia lifts one of the metallic disks between her fingers and mouths a complaint as Loki begins to whisk you away, arm held around your waist.

“And you better bring her right back here in an hour!” Sofia calls after you. “Or I’ll shove my feet so far up your ass you’ll be begging for Valhalla!”

Loki laughs as he pulls you away, out of the restaurant.

“I quite like her,” he whispers.

His hand rests against the small of your back as he leads you beyond the Blue Bird and out into the bustling city. It is particularly busy for a Sunday morning. The sidewalks cluttered with pedestrians, shoving into you as you pass.

Loki hugs you closer.

“This is the first I’ve seen you in something other than a dress,” he murmurs. “The view of your thighs is a nice surprise...”

“I told you I didn’t want to see you again,” you bark. “What part of that wasn’t clear?”

He looks down at you, an eyebrow raised in intrigue.

“When did you become such a feisty little minx?” He laughs. “This sort of attitude might have been useful on Sakaar.”

“When you impregnated me with an alien,” you growl. “Which, by the way, I’ve learned isn’t even Asgardian. What the hell are you, anyway?”

His expression changes, all humor washes from his face, swept into the drainage below. It takes with it that mischievous smirk.

“Has it been a rough pregnancy so far?” He asks, his voice low, guarded. “Have you been in a lot of pain?”

“Did you not see me throw up in your hotel room?” You scowl, facing forward, refusing to look at him. “Everyday has been like that. It hasn’t exactly been a walk in the park ...”

He doesn’t reply, deciding instead to pull you into a coffee shop at the corner of an intersection crossing.

“What are you doing?” you ask in a low groan.

“I’m thirsty,” he says with scowl before setting his gaze upon the large menu,  
gleaming above your heads. His brows fold forward in frustration.

“Have you ever even had coffee?” You laugh.

He turns and glares at you. “No, I didn’t exactly have time to meddle in Midgardian delicacies on my last visit...”

“What can I get you?” The cashier asks sweetly. You pray she doesn’t recognize Loki, whose image has been scattered across every local newspaper since the attack on New York. But she seems blissfully unaware.

“He’ll take a small coffee. Black. Two shots of espresso.” You hand over your credit card. “And I’ll take a small earl grey.” Your eyes drift over the pastry showcase. “And two chocolate croissants,” you add.

“At least let me pay for you...” Loki mutters, looking rather irritated behind you, arms folded at his chest. You’ve clearly wounded his pride.

“With what money?” You respond. “Your currency isn’t going to cut it here.”

You settle into a small enclave at the back of the shop as you wait for your drinks. Loki eyes the pastry in front of him suspiciously, turning it over in his hands. A dusting of powdered sugar snows down upon his pant legs.

You chuckle into your hand resulting in his disgruntled scowl before he drops the pastry, while you bite into yours.

“Had you wanted to be a mother?” He asks, eyeing you carefully, dusting off his pant leg. “Before now? Before this?” His gaze settles onto your waist.

A waitress comes by, interrupting you with your drinks. You wait for Loki’s reaction as he lifts the coffee to his lips. He hesitates.

“What does it taste like?” He asks. He is so guarded, so on edge, a stark difference to how he acted with Sofia at the cafe. Here, he is like a kitten tipping his hand into a shallow pool of water. Timid.

“The taste reminds me of you,” you reply with a smirk. So he smiles and takes a long, trusting gulp. Only to cough and curse the minute the liquid hits his taste buds.

“That’s the most bitter vile I’ve ever tasted,” he complains, dropping the porcelain mug. You stifle a satisfactory laugh as you sip on your tea.

“I’ve made you cruel,” he notes with a small smile, settling back into his chair.

“No, don’t take the credit for this. It’s the hormones, if anything,” you say with a sigh. “And to answer your question, yes, I did. Perhaps not this young but ... I suppose it was always part of my plans.”

You take a long sip. “But I never thought my first child would be with a lying immortal asshole...”

He takes another sip of his coffee, as if to prove a point. He twitches slightly. From the beverage or your words, you can’t say for certain.

“It may not be how you wanted it,” he begins, leaning forward onto the table. “But you are radiant. Truly.” His hand traces down your cheek. “You are going to make a wonderful mother to our child.”

You immediately blush and pull away from his touch, gulping down more tea, using the steam as an excuse for your flushed cheeks.

“That is if I keep the child...”

The coffee mug shatters in Loki’s grasp.

“What?” His voice is an animalistic growl, as he comes around the table. The shards of porcelain cut into his palm, just barely beginning to bleed.

“Maybe I won’t keep it.” You hold your gaze steady as he seats beside you. His breath pooling over you, hot and tempered. Like molten lava.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. won’t allow it,” you continue, seemingly unfazed. Your expression a solid poker face, masking your clouded dread. “But it’s not like they or you have any say in the matter...”

“It’s my child!” He says in a roar. The atmosphere of the small cafe shifting under the weight of his rage. The patrons turning to gawk, all conversation stalling. “Mine as much as yours,” he continues, voice lowered. “We created that child and we...”

“We?” You laugh. “There never was a we, Loki. And I never asked for this... I never wanted this!”

“Do you hate me that much?” He asks in an almost inaudible whisper. He pulses his fist open and closed against his lap, the blood smearing over his palm.

“Why did you come here?” You ask, staring down at the tea held against your knee, the liquid vibrating, your legs shaking. “What made you change your mind? Did you come to torture me? But... I suppose now that I am pregnant with your heir you’ll want to keep me around at least until the baby’s born...”

“No,” he murmurs, forcing his unmarred hand through his hair. “Gods, no.”

“Then what is it then, Loki?” You bark, your voice raising with each interval. “What drove you out of Asgard to find me? What could it possibly have been?”

“Because I love you, you insufferable woman!” He barks so loudly the table shakes beside you. The murmurs of the patrons growing louder around you.

You look at him with wide eyes, before his head settles into the curve of your neck.

“My cruel, sweet tormentor...” his teeth graze your neck. You bite your lip, clenching your hand into a tight fist. It’s all the encouragement he needs to kiss you where he has sunk his fangs into your flesh.

“Who cursed me with an endless slough of sleepless nights after I sent you away,” he starts, this time, again, in a whisper. “And If I did sleep, I dreamt only of you. And during the day, I could swear I’d see you, pacing the halls, taunting me. Telling me how wrong I was.”

“Is that all?” You glare. “Was it only guilt that brought you to me?”

“No.” His hand comes down beside your shoulder against the backing of the loveseat, as he pulls away from your neck. “It was regret.”

“Regret for having sent me away... or for having loved me at all?”

He answers you with a soft caress of his lips against yours, breathing into your parted mouth. You want to pull away. You want to shove him off of you. But somehow you relax under the weight of him, your lips parting freely for him.

“Regret for letting you see the mask,” he says. “The mask of the monster I reserved for my enemies. Not for my lover.”

You blink, trying to stay focused, trying not to be persuaded by his charm...

“Do you regret loving me?” His voice, a vibration against your lips as he speaks, is wrought with torment, with a pain you can feel echoed within your own heart.

And all willpower cascades off your shoulders as you give into him. Into your desire. Into your discarded longing for him. You kiss him gently, your fingers coursing through his slicked back hair. His own trace lines down your neck.

“No,” you admit in a sigh. “It would be easier if I did. But I still... I still...”

“Say it.” An order. Always an order.

You refuse, turning away, expecting him to push you further, but he only sighs.

“Let me find my redemption,” he whispers instead. “Let me prove to you what you mean to me. What this,” his hand rests against your stomach, “means to me.”

You pull back to look at him. His emerald eyes are clouded in despair, in longing.

“Please,” his says, his voice hollow. _Please_. Loki was never one to beg. Never one to... “Don’t take the one beautiful thing in my life away from me...”

Your eyes grow wide. Was he speaking of you or of your child? Or perhaps... the two of you together. His future, his potential family.

“I never planned to abort,” you whisper in confession. “I couldn’t bring myself to do that. Not when... not when I still loved you so much.”

He sighs into your shoulder. “Say that again.”

“Say what?”

“Tell me you love me.”

You hesitate once more, staring past him at the rising stream pouring up from the espresso machine behind the counter. The words are caught somewhere between fear and uncertainty.

He reaches up for you, turning your gaze upon him.

“Can we start again?” He asks. “Can we turn back time to when this all made sense?”

“No, we can’t,” you reply. “Because it never did make sense, Loki. Our love is chaos.”

His lips crack into a smirk. “Perhaps that’s why I want it so much.”

He kisses you again with a hunger that seeps into your open mouth, pooling onto your tongue tangled in with his.

You pull away, catching your breath. To clear your head.

“If we do this...” you begin, sounding exasperated. “We will need to do this the old fashioned way.”

He leans back and looks at you with a puzzled expression. “And what way is that?”

You glare.

“Wine and dine me, asshole.”


	45. IV. Target Practice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess whose 4K HD edition of Thor Ragnorak just shipped? Loki in HD baby. Doesn’t get better than that... now to stop my husband from looking all sadly jealous :P oh ya, I’m married now. :D

Monday morning you are shipped off straight away to the gun range, as promised. It is set up at the edge of town in a secluded, and heavily surveillanced, field. You are provided with a uniform fit for your high school gym class, complete with an undersized top, a regrettable side effect thanks to your ever-growing breasts. But this time, you can’t blame puberty.

You are amongst a group of about twenty total, all new recruits, all green and in need of training. Or so you thought. The minute they place a gun in your hand and ask you to start shooting, you realize you are the only one truly in need of THe discipline. The rest of the group has come from military or police background, secret service and F.B.I. All making perfect aim at their targets up ahead.

_Bullseye. Bullseye. Bullseye._

You lift your gun to aim once again, the fired bullets flying past the human shaped target, landing somewhere in the muddy hill beyond. You remove your ear muffs and unload the gun, falling back to let another recruit take your place in the lineup.

You strut toward the water cooler, chugging from a flimsy paper cup.

“Giving up already?”

You wipe the sweat from your brow and stare at Natasha who has joined you at the watering hole.

“I’m not cut from the same cloth as these guys.” You gesture toward the open field where the echoing of gun fire litters the air.

“Then maybe we should be sharpening up your covert skills,” she offers. “I read your bio this morning. You survived for months on a foreign planet. That had to have taken some skill.”

“I can’t take all the credit,” you mumble. “I wasn’t exactly alone.”

“Oh right...” she slides into a chair beside you. “Loki.” She glares into the grain of the wooden bench. “That in and of itself was quite a feat...”

“He really isn’t as bad as you all think he is.”

“No?” She scoffs. “What is he then? If not a murderous monster?”

_Your lover_. The thought hits you like the full impact of a plane into the side of your skull.

“He has done some horrible things,” you agree. “But everyone is capable of change. Even him.”

“Did he manipulate you?” She asks, her gaze locked onto you like some sort of target practice. “I’m sure you heard what he did to Agent Barton back then. How he turned him into a puppet for his own sick games...” Her hand shakes within a clinched fist against the table. “Is that what this is? Has he planted a bug into your brain to make you weak to his advances?”

If only you could wiggle under that sort of excuse. That this was beyond your free-will, that you’d been forced, that you’d been held prisoner inside your own mind. Controlled to give him access to every part of you, physical or emotional. But it was far beyond being that simple.

“I’ve read your bio too,” you counter, diverting the conversation. “Your past isn't exactly squeaky clean either... and that’s only the parts that are made public knowledge.”

You sit down across from her.

“People are capable of change,” you continue cautiously. “You know that more than anyone.”

“And you think Loki has changed? That he won’t suddenly betray us...betray you?”

“I’m not naive to his tricks,” you mutter.

“How close did you and he get on Sakaar? A few months is quite a long time to get to know someone.”

You swallow hard.

She suddenly smirks. “Oh I see... so you and he...?”

Someone screams behind you, a misfired weapon. Nothing too deadly, but it is enough of a distraction to divert her attention long enough to shuffle away. Her question left unanswered. 

But she knew. You could tell by the way she looked at you. _She knew._

You return to the gun range, fueled by the determination to prove to the Black Widow that you are more than a weak damsel in love with the comic book villain. Stockholm Syndrome at its finest.

The bullets fly just beyond the silhouette once again.

You focus in, channeling your rage into the gun. You mentally replace the cardboard cutout with a tangible target. And a figure seems to appear before you. Magnus, gleaming with a darkened malice dripping off his lips. He calls your name over and over again until your bullets lodge right into his skull.

Satisfied, you step back to reload.

With your gun hot, you look back up and for a moment you swear it’s Loki standing there, arms outstretched as if to say, “Do it. Shoot me.”

Flustered, you yank the earmuffs off and step away. You strut off toward the break area when a commotion toward the entrance of the range catches your attention.

Out of a dark van, you see Steve Rogers step out with a faint smile as he is approached by the hoard of new recruits. They hold out bits of paper for him to sign, pushing to get closer.

_Lemmings... every single one of you._

He catches your eye beyond the crowd of bobbing fans, his eyes widening with the curve of his lips. He maneuvers through the crowd, muttering apologies, until he is standing right in front of you.

“Hey,” he says in greeting, his smile gleaming against the afternoon sunlight. “I was looking for you at the masquerade but Nat told me you ran off.”

You lock the safety, resting the gun in the hostler at your hip before reaching up to adjust your ponytail. “Did you need me for something?”

His smile twitches slightly. “Well, not really... I just wanted to dance with you again.”

You feel the heat rush over your cheeks. It must be the blistering sun. _It’s too damn hot._

“Oh.” Its all you can manage to say.

“I stepped on a few too many feet thanks to you,” he laughs. “I think you were keeping me in line.”

“Don’t blame me for your lack of coordination on the dance floor,” you tease. “I’d think with all of your other enhanced abilities you’d at least be able to hold a rhythm.”

He laughs whole heartedly then, ruffling his light hair through his fingers.

“You got me there,” he says with a sigh. “I clearly need practice.”

He inches closer to you, his tall, muscular form blocking out the sun. “Tell you what... why don’t you make it up to me?”

“And how do you propose I do that?” You dare to ask.

“They teach swing classes at the community center Saturday nights,” he says. “Perhaps you can join me? You know, to protect innocent feet from being stepped on.”

You gaze up at him wide-eyed.

“Steve Rogers, are you asking me out on a date?” This time you are certain it isn’t the sun that’s making you blush.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says in a grin. “So is that a yes or...”

“Steve, you’re sweet but have you not heard what they are all saying about me...?”

“I don’t listen to rumors,” he says, eyes narrowed. “I’d prefer to glean the truth from you, from getting to know you better.”

“But I am pregnant,” you reply. “That isn’t just gossip.”

“Are you and the father...”

You shake your head. Though the truth was rather complicated.

“I don’t want to push you,” he says, moving closer. “Would you mind being my dance partner... just as a friend, for now?”

The bright sun blinds you as you try to meet his eye. Another friend you didn’t deserve.

“Call me the Protector of Feet,” you smile.

He beams down at you.

You part ways as he runs off to chat with  Natasha, before they both return to the van, leaving in a hurry.

_They must have a new mission. No longer quiet, I suppose._

They drive you back to the midtown office in the late afternoon, where you shower and change out of the sweat drenched uniform. There is barely an hour left of the workday, not enough time to drown yourself in the distraction of research. Not enough to stop the persistent thumping of your heart against your chest, an erratic rhythm. It is a persistent reminder of how his smile had stirred something within you.

Had you really accepted an offer for a date from Captain America himself? Something must have been in the water...

The minute the clock strikes five o’clock, you pack up your laptop and make for the exit, along with the rest of your floor. The end of day exodus. You follow the flood of your coworkers to the elevators, where you are pushed to the front, just beyond the metal doors.

The elevator slowly begins it’s descent.

_Floor thirty._

_Floor twenty-nine._

“Hey Rebecca,” you hear someone say in a whisper behind you. “That’s the girl Thor knocked up, right?”

You turn to see a gaggle of women behind you, staring forward, whispering and laughing.

You don’t have patience for gossips. You don’t have patience for much these days.

“Do you have something you want to say to me?” You bark.

The peachy hue of their cheeks completely drains away as they inch backward, against the back of the elevator.

“Well, is it true?” One of them dares to ask. The rest of her colleagues turn to stare, curiosity killing their common courtesy.

“No,” you answer, turning back around.

_Five more floors..._

“I just don’t see why he’d sleep with her,” you hear one of them mutter.

You swear you can hear something snap inside your skull, the air getting colder, as you spin around to confront them further, your hands held together in tight fists at your sides. But as you do, the elevator door slides open behind you, followed by the cheerful recorded greeting: “Ground Floor.”

The gossiping women all gasp in unison with one of them muttering “Shit.”

You turn around and immediately see the source of their reaction. In the lobby, lounging back against a loveseat, is Loki. Looking as smug and conceited as ever. His emerald eyes seem to glint with mischief under the fluorescent lighting.

“I’m ready to wine and dine you, pet,” he says with a wide grin. 


	46. IV. Loki’s POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Chapter Title: Strawberries ;)
> 
> Also... “Loki doesn’t give a shit about S.H.I.E.L.D.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be my favorite chapter thus far. It was too fun to write (and wasn’t included in my original draft so it’s a happy sorta bonus)

“Have you lost your damn mind?” You grab him by the arm and practically drag him from the building. “They all saw you! S.H.I.E.L.D. saw you!”

You stop dead in your tracks when you see the black Lamborghini parked out front. It clicks, unlocking.

“Well, then we better make ourselves scarce,” Loki says, opening the passenger door for you with that mischievous grin.

You quickly slide inside while Loki comes around to the driver’s seat. He punches the car into gear and flies off out into the busy street, swerving in and out of traffic. He can’t be bothered to stop. The lights quickly turn green the instant he crosses over the stop line.

“You’re insane,” you mutter, white knuckling the door handle.

“We have a date,” he replies with a smile. “And I don’t intend for us to be late.”

“They would have killed you,” you mutter. “My company, you know they want you dead, right?”

“Oh, I’m quite aware. You’re worth the risk, kitten.”

He watches your throat bob up and down as you swallow, hard.

“Are you going to tell me where you’re taking me?” You ask, gaze locked against the window.

But he is silent, leaving you to the torment of your swirling mind.

He takes you through the city as it slowly comes alive, vibrant with night life, neon lights leading the way forward. He is vibrating with a sort of nervous energy he very seldom felt so weakened by. What did it matter if he pleased you? What did it matter if he managed to make you smile tonight? Or laugh? He’d find a way to make you his once again. Or he’d take you, if he had to. Take you right in that restaurant, even if you screamed, even if you begged him to stop...

He grips the steering wheel, tight.

_No. I am no monster. I want her willing. I want her to beg for me to fuck her. I want her to be mine. Truly._

Finally, he stops. Your eyes widen as he watches you slowly digest the name of his chosen “date” location. He drops the keys into the hand of an eager valet boy.

“Better than... sex?” You read with a growing blush over your cheeks.

“Do you like it, pet?”

He alights with triumph as he watches your face twist with stifled arousal. _You try so hard to deny your lust, your sinful desire to be owned. But I know your true nature too well now, love. There is no use denying it, if only for pride._

He takes your hand and leads you into the restaurant, barely marked other than the sleek gold lettering on the door. The windows blacked out and nondescript.

“Reservation, sir?” The woman at the podium says with a frown, judging you both the minute you walk in. Her eyes dash from the tips of your scuffed heels to your hair, held loosely inside the jaws of a wide clip only fit for the office.

“Laufeyson,” Loki replies, coolly.

The woman’s eyes widen and a bright grin swipes over her lips. “Oh, of course! Welcome, sir. Please, right this way.”

She leads you both to the back of the restaurant, passing thick velvet drapes that shield each table, or rather the cushions that serve as the seating. He catches the faint glimmer of skin caught against candle light from behind each small velvet opening.

He hears a woman’s moan from beyond those sinful curtains and pulls you close to his side, drunk with anticipation.

“How did you get a reservation here?” Your voice is wavering between anger and dread. Your grip on his hand is trembling. “This place has a waitlist for months...”

“You needn’t worry about that,” he murmurs.

The hostess pulls back a set of velvet curtains, tucked away at the back of the restaurant. The lights are dim inside, with only flicking candle light to guide the way. You fumble forward onto the red cushions, sinking into the plush pillows.

“Enjoy,” the woman’s says with a seductive smile, meant only for Loki, whose eyes are set upon you exclusively.

But your gaze is locked to the small excuse for a menu. “Are you hungry?” You ask, meekly.

“Ravenous,” he purrs. His hand playfully carves a trail up your ankle to the back of your calf.

_Fight me, kitten. Tell me I’m awful for bringing you here. Smack me around a little. Bruise and scar me. Where is that gumption I saw earlier? Though, I do love to see you squirm..._

“All the menu items are... interesting,” you say simply, kicking his touch away.

“I don’t think this place really specializes in the food.”

He hovers over you, pushing you into the cushions. He reaches down, eager to begin his destruction over your exposed neck. _I want everyone in that little organization of yours to know where you’ve been. And whose name you screamed into the night..._

But before he can even touch his lips to your skin, you grab ahold of his chin and shift his gaze to yours. Your eyes narrow in as he smirks.

“This is your way of courting me?” you ask with a deep scowl. “By bringing me to a swingers’ club?”

_There you are, my little minx._

“I brought you to a restaurant famed for its aphrodisiacs. A reminder of how we first came to be more than... mere acquaintances,” he replies. His fingers trace down your neck, until they meet with the top button of your blouse. “What the other patrons do with their time here is not my concern.”

The button quickly comes undone. And then the next. And the next. And you don’t make to stop him until the lacey bits of your undergarments peek out from the fabric, your bosom barely contained beneath their hold.

“Was this for me?” His pearly whites gleam behind curved lips. He traces the line of lace over the curve of your breast with just the faintest caress of his fingertips across your skin. You shiver and arch your back.

The curtains are pulled wide open with one swift movement and a waiter stands as the culprit between the partition, gleaming down at you. You clutch onto your parted blouse, turning into Loki as a shield, burying your head into his shoulder. He chuckles softly, breathing in your shame like it is the sweetest liquor.

“I apologize if I’ve interrupted,” the waiter says, slyly. “Can I get you two anything? Wine? Dessert? Condoms?”

He can feel you gasp into the crook of his neck, your nails digging into the fabric of his jacket, something he quickly discards beside you. And his laughter rises instantly, filling the small enclave.

“It’s a little late for condoms,” he chuckles before reaching down to delicately slide his fingertips beneath your chin. The hand clutching your blouse slides away, exposing the dark lace beneath once more. And the rosy blush raising up your chest.

“What would you like, my sweet? What do you desire?” He traces your lips with his thumb, urging you to relax your jaw and open your mouth ever so slightly. “Do you want those chocolate covered strawberries you once craved on Sakaar?” He says with a wink, knowing fully well that had been a lie.

“Stop it,” you growl, crossing your legs tightly. _Are you turned on already, pet? How amusing..._

“I’ll have a glass of your finest red,” he tells the waiter. “Water for the lady. And a plate of chocolate covered strawberries. And I suggest you make yourself known before you pull a stunt like that again. Lest you don’t want any children of your own.”

The waiter nods, gulping, and closes the curtain, returning you both to darkness.

“Now, where were we?” he purrs happily, turning back to you, and pressing his body flesh to yours.

You bite your lip and turn away. “This wasn’t what I had in mind...” you mutter. “This isn’t exactly first date material, Loki.”

“Would that mortal avenger have done something different?” He groans with a glare. “Would he have taken you somewhere more civilized? More suited for your modesty?”

“Mortal avenger?” You say, slowly, gaping at him against the dim light. “Do you mean Steve?”

“Already on a first name basis, are we?” he grumbles. “I saw you dancing with him at the masquerade. Smiling at him.”

But when he catches your eye, you are smirking. You push him into the pillows and straddle his lap, your pencil skirt shifting up against your thighs.

“He asked me out on a date,” you confess with a bright smile as you lean over him, working with the remainder of the buttons on your blouse, until the fabric slides over your arms. “He really seems to like me. Said he wants to get to know me better.”

“He is a dead man...” his nails dig into your hips, but you barely flinch.

“He is a more suitable match, don’t you think?” You tease, but your words are like daggers burying deep between his ribs.

He hated to admit that the thought had plagued him during those sleepless nights in your absence, that you might find comfort in a mortal lover and quickly realize how wrong you’d been for ever loving him. For ever thinking this could be good for you.

But he’d be damned if he let another man touch you again. He’d kill him before he ever saw the threat of slaughter...

Your lips hover over his as you whisper gently into his mouth, “Oh, what a jealous man you are, my king.”

He moans against you, caught off guard by the off-cue term of endearment that sends him spiraling into a pit of lust. He yanks the fabric of your bra down until your breasts bounce into view.

“I could make you my queen, little mortal,” he growls against your breasts. He reaches up with one hand to release your hair from its confines. It cascades down your back. “And every night I’ll lie you on my table and devour you like my own personal feast. I’ll pour wine down your sinful body and drink every last drop of that sweet nectar, made sweeter by your flesh, lusting for my touch.”

He twists your nipple until you whine and throw your head back in approval. “I want to drink from you, from your watering mouth, from your dripping cunt. To suckle the milk from your tit.”

Your eyes go wide before he clamps his mouth over your breast. And you moan, holding him tight against you. His tongue swirls happily around your hardened nipple.

_That’s it, sweet girl. Hold me like you want me. Make me feel that you only desire me and no one else. That you belong only to me._

“Loki...” is all you manage to moan before the curtains fly open once again.

He releases your breast from his lips and glares at the waiter, a plate of strawberries in one hand, wine and water in the other. His eyes are wide as he realizes what he’s forgotten.

Loki reaches out, the tendrils of his magic pooling onto his fingertips, ready to strike, ready to kill, but instead he growls into your neck as he feels you slowly grind into him. His cock hard beneath you, eager to fill your desire. It diverts his rage effectively. You reach down between your legs, guiding his hand there before you murmur against his neck, “I’m so wet for you, my king. Feel me. Fuck me.”

The waiter quickly drops the plate and wine before leaving once more, escaping his potential execution.

Loki leans you back against the cushions, your legs still wrapped around him as he tears your panties apart, the sheer lace crumbling in his grasp. He reaches for a strawberry, licking the tip.

“Are you hungry now, love?”

“Ravenous,” You purr, mocking him.

“Spread your legs wide for me, pet.”

And you comply, as if it were as natural as breathing. _You are always so quick to succumb to me. So eager to please me. Don’t ever change, sweet girl._

He runs his fingers over your entrance and moans, realizing the true extent of your arousal, dripping down onto the velvet beneath you.

“So lewd,” he growls before he playfully runs the strawberry up and down over your folds, smearing chocolate over your lips.

You gasp and jerk back, but his hand smooths over your chest, settling over your erratic heartbeat.

“Relax, kitten,” he orders softly, before he glides the fruit inside of you, the smallest tip of it peeking out from your mound.

“Don’t move,” he adds before his mouth guides down to meet your pussy. Where he eats the fruit from you, greedily moaning against your swollen lips. He licks up the juice that trickles down your thigh, a mixture of the sweet, tangy morsel and the clear wine of your desire.

“Delicious,” he hums against you.

He can hear you breathing heavily beneath him, your knees wobbling to either side of his head.

“Did that feel good? Shall I try another?”

As if a nonverbal “yes”, your knees fall open even wider as your hands reach out for him. He takes another strawberry and places it to your lips.

“Open wide.” Your mouth opens eagerly. And as he presents the piece of fruit against your tongue, he plunges his cock inside of you, still sticky with the remnants of chocolate. You hadn’t even noticed when he had used his magic to remove his clothing, catching you completely off guard.

You bite into the strawberry as he begins to thrust with full vigor, juice dripping down your chin and neck. He eagerly licks up the trail to your lips before capturing your mouth fully with his own and kissing you deeply. As he pulls away, he sees how your eyes are glazed over with desire, hiding beneath them pure joy as he fills you. You grasp his bare ass and encourage him to quicken his pace.

“Don’t. Ever. Leave. Me. Again,” you growl between each wanton moan.

“Never,” he answers with a grin, before silencing you with another kiss, his hand gripped around the back of your neck.

You knock over the glass of wine beside you, the liquid splashing over your discarded blouse and onto your chest. He growls and licks up the gift from your breast. Your hands creep higher, nails burying into his back before you scream in ecstasy.

“Loki!” And your orgasms shatter you both to pieces.

He gives you a few minutes to steady your breathing as he dresses. He watches you as you lie there, your chest raising and falling. Your legs parted and just the hint of his cum trickling down your thigh. Your cunt still sleek with chocolate. He licks his lips, reaching for the strawberries to lazily nibble on the remaining few.

“I don't know if immortals can survive without actual meals,” you say, breathlessly. “But you do know I’m actually going to need real food, right?”

He laughs as he magics the wine stain from your blouse and helps you back into it.

“I know,” he says with a soft kiss to your lips. “I know.”


	47. IV. Hereditary

You try not to make eye contact with any of the wait staff as you leave the restaurant. But your movements must give you away. That is if your loud scream hadn’t already.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” The hostess asks Loki, her gaze locked onto him like prey set upon a mouse.

He doesn’t answer her, though the hand held firmly to your ass serves as answer enough as you stumble out into the night.

You drive for quite a long time, out of the city, toward the coastline. The glimmering horizon comes into view, the sun already descended into the ocean, casting the sky in a deep purple hue as the moon comes to claim its throne. He stops once at a drive thru, at your request, looking rather disgruntled and unamused as you nibble on your choice of fries and a chocolate milkshake.

“That hardly counts as sustenance,” he grumbles, casting a side glance in your direction as he peels out into the night.

“It’s called a pregnancy craving,” you reply, defiantly dunking your fries into the shake before taking another bite. You offer a fry out for him but he scuffs in disgust. You laugh. “You know my apartment is on the other side of town, right?” You gaze out to stare at the crashing waves beyond your window. You plop the fry into your mouth.

He doesn’t answer but instead, the car comes to a sudden halt.

You step out of the car and see that you are parked at the end of a driveway, and up ahead is a small home set into the face of a cliff, overlooking the vast ocean.

“Whose house is this?” You ask as Loki takes your hand and leads you up to the front door.

“Ours.”

Your jaw comes unhinged as you walk inside. Every surface, every floor is covered in candle light, small wicks flickering against the darkness. A wide window overlooks the sea.

“How did you...”

“With the coin you said held no value here.”

He takes you by the hand and leads you toward the window, standing behind you. He kisses your neck softly while his hands trail down the length of your arms and back up again. His touch, his otherwise silent caress, is deafening as you continue to watch the world collapse into nightfall.

“Loki...”

He hums into your neck.

“How did you... I mean, why did you...?”

He pulls back, kissing the base of your neck. “Why did I acquire this house?” He finishes for you, his lips wrapping around your ear lobe. “For you. For our child.”

You shiver and turn to look at him. “Do you want to live here... together?”

His shoulders tighten. “Is this not what you Midgardians do? Is this not how you mate?”

You glare. “Yes and no... but Loki, we don’t have to do things like everyone else does...”

“So what would you have me do?” He grunts. “You don’t know what kind of effort it’s taking for me to swallow my pride like this. To grovel before you... to pretend to be mortal.”

He shifts his gaze out toward the horizon. A storm cloud in the distance rumbles the earth before a bolt of lightning ignites the night sky. It illuminates his face against the glass. His narrowed eyes hold to the crashing waves, the foaming crests becoming more violent with each new push and pull.

“I don’t want you to pretend to be anything,” you mutter. “Especially if you are merely doing it for my sake.”

“I’m trying...” he turns, meeting your gaze. Another flash of lightening brightens the ore of his eyes. “I’m trying to ignore that voice screaming in my head, telling me that you resent that I’m the father. That a part of you wishes it were that weak, leotard wearing mortal.. .”

Your fingers trace the curve of his jawline, as you smile up at him weakly.

“I wouldn’t be standing here if I wanted it to be anyone else,” you murmur. “I’m happy you’re the father. I’m happy you were my first lover... and my last.”

His eyes widen but before he dares to speak, you continue. “Is there a bath in this house of ours? I’m still covered in chocolate, thanks to you.”

He leads you to it, hand in hand. The path there matches the rest of the house, equally lined with candles. A blatant fire hazard but to Loki, risks such as these are worth meddling in. As he draws the bath, you come behind him to slowly remove his shirt. Button by button. Until he is standing bare in front of you. Until you are the same.

You step into the bath together. It is so hot the steam raises up to kiss the scooped ceiling. You slide in slowly behind him, to adjust to the heat. He seems unperturbed by it, settling quickly into the bath, his back to you. You ease in, letting your legs fall to either side of him. You reach for a bar of soap, startled to even find it there. This house, perfectly stocked, perfectly prepared for life to settle into it. Had he planned this for some time? Had he done all of this for you?

You shake away the thought. Someone like Loki was more likely to have stolen this from someone. To force someone out...

You run the lathered bar over the curve of his back.

“The heat,” you begin. “It doesn’t bother you.” You run your hands over his cool skin. “And you always feel... so cold.”

You reach into the bath to retrieve a cup of water in your scooped hand, letting it fall and trace down his back, catching the remnants of soap in its trail.

“If you aren’t Asgardian,” you continue. “What are you?”

Your hands linger on his shoulders. You can feel him tense, strain. The muscle tight beneath your touch.

“Never mind, you don’t have to tell me...” you start to say when you see his skin change under your hands, as if paint had begun to spill from your fingertips, spreading over his shoulders and back until he is completely coated in a blue hue. Even the texture of his skin seems to change, adding arches and etchings to make him _Other_. You pull away, on instinct, but your hands hover over his new skin.

“This is what I am.” His voice is a warning. “A Frost Giant. From Johutunheim. Lost and forgotten as a baby. Until the All Father found me and decided to make me a bargaining tool.”

The water goes cold, small crystals form at the surface, like snow flakes, as his rage seeps out of him in cool, icy currents.

You reach forward and dare to pull him around to face you. His skin burns your flesh. But you don’t care.

“Look at me,” you order. And for a moment you don’t believe he will comply. But eventually he does and the dark red orbs of his eyes are startling. Not the rich emeralds that had once seduced you so effectively. And you are afraid. Looking at him like this, he truly does appear as the monster he wanted you to believe he was.

And you see that realization flash over his eyes. That you are afraid of him, of who he really is. And it is as if he has already decided that you will reject him.

But you don’t. You push back hesitation and fear, enough to reach beyond the veil of your doubt, and touch your lips to his.

“I know what you are,” You whisper against him. “I’m not afraid of you, Loki.”

The ice of his touch pulls away, swept under the cover of his forged skin, stretched back over his true form. His bright eyes fading back into a forest green.

“Our son will be like this,” he says, his gaze low against the water. “He will be part Jotun. And part mortal.”

“Or daughter,” You say, unfazed by his assertion.

His hand slides over your stomach.

“Son,” Loki confirms. “I can feel him. Sense him within you.”

You rest your hand over his and you realize your child is growing exponentially fast, the indication of its life much larger than it had been only days before.

“Is this normal for your kind?” You ask. “For him to grow this fast?”

_A son_. You were going to have a son.

His eyes narrow before he speaks. “You told me it had been a trying pregnancy... has it continued to be so, since I’ve arrived?”

The morning sickness had effectively stopped, you realized. You’d felt more... alive. As if you were no longer wading through life out of necessity. But now, you were truly breathing, relishing every gulp of air.

His hands settle on your thighs. “Perhaps my being here is having an effect on you.”

You shiver but not from the chill of the water, now completely devoid of its former warmth. You realize the cold hasn’t even bothered you...

Without asking for permission, Loki lifts you into his arms, out of the bath, and carries you into the bedroom waiting just beyond the arched doorway.

“Why do you think that?” You ask softly as he lies you on the bed, your skin still wet from the bath. You dampen the silk sheets beneath you. Your eyes dance around the room looking for evidence that the house had been lived in before you. But you find none.

He smirks down at you, crawling up to cage you in against the mattress. His breath is a cool caress over your neck.

“Tell me more,” you murmur. “I want to know more about you.”

He smirks into the curve of your neck.

“When I was a boy, Frigga would lull Thor and I to sleep with fairytales,” he says as a whisper into your skin. “About old Asgardian legends, forgotten warriors, magical beasts, lost relics.”

His lips trace down the curve of neck until he reaches your nipple, already erect beneath his tongue.

“She told us a story once of lovers, from two separate realms,” he goes on, mindlessly playing with your other breast between his finger tips. “They met by pure chance, a goodwill meeting between their worlds. They were never meant to meet otherwise. But the strength of their love could be felt across all nine realms.”

“Sounds like Romeo and Juliet,” you say, biting your lip as his tongue circles around the sensitive nerves at the tip of your breast. “A famous love story from Midgard,” you clarify.

“How did their story end?” He murmurs against your chest, slowly inching lower.

“They died. Suicide.”

Loki looks up at you from where he is settled between your legs, bent and parted for him.

“Well, that’s rather depressing for Midgardian entertainment...”

“And what about your fairytale, were they given a better ending?” You ask softly, reaching down to course your fingers through his dark tuff of hair.

“That’s where the stories diverge,” he answers with a kiss to your thigh. One for each side. “Some stories say they bore many children together and died, old and happy, a long sleep in their lover’s arms. Others say they were killed in battle, an arrow pierced between them, locking them together in death.”

His lips hovers over your entrance. “But one detail was consistent across all those retellings across time. That their auras were the same. Two matching spirits separated by the cosmos upon creation. A wrinkle in the fabric of time that would persist beyond each lifetime. To be reborn again and again.”

The air catches in your throat as you try to breath in, to steady the racing heartbeat you know he must feel at the pulse point between your legs.

“The same... aura?” Heimdall’s words, as you departed from Asgard, ring inside your ears, like the chorus of angels.

“An old folklore,” Loki hums, misplacing your unsteady hands for the effects of arousal. “That their spirits may live on. And if two beings possessed the same aura, they too would be locked in fate together. Beyond meager concepts of love.”

“Can you see auras?”

He chuckles a response that vibrates against your core. You moan happily and arch into him.

“Auras,” he huffs. “I hardly believe in fate.”

“So how is it that can you laugh at stories of destiny and soul mates when you seem to think your mere presence is affecting my pregnancy?”

He shrugs. “It could be nothing. It could be that Jotun gestation is much shorter. I’m not exactly well versed in their biology. Having lived my entire life as an Asgardian.”

Maybe he was right. Maybe it was nothing. But Heimdall was convinced he could see it, see your auras. And being with Loki eased all the pain of your pregnancy, as if he was always meant to be by your side through it all. Guiding you, supporting you.

But before you can think on it any further, his tongue smooths over your sex and you are lost in the subsequent waves of pleasure. He pulls away once he has successfully made you wither beneath him in release, his silver-tongue useful for more than just the mastery of deceit. His lips are sleek with your arousal as he hums against your entrance.

“What were you like as a child?” He asks sweetly, kissing your lower lips, plump with desire. “I want to know more about you too, pet.”

You smile, coursing your fingers through his dark hair and start to tell him a story, the story of you. And past that bed, past where you are tangled together in a mess of limbs, the dusk began to fade into dawn, the distant lightning a warning of a larger storm yet to come.


	48. IV. Domestic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys... it’s done. I just wrote the last chapter (55) and it feels so surreal. I can’t wait to share it with you all.

You awake the next day to the smell of burnt bacon wafting into the bedroom. A curse echoes down the hall and you fumble to your feet off of the bed, which is a mess of torn sheets and clothing.

You find a robe draped, waiting for you, over a lounge beside you. You gladly take it but as you wrap the cord around your waist, you almost stumble back into the frame of the bed. Your stomach has grown even more over night. It shouldn’t be possible. Not for a human child. But he wasn’t human. Not fully. 

_He_... your child already had a gender. Would Loki want to discuss a name? You shake your head, willing the thought from your mind as you pull the robe tightly around yourself and stalk toward the kitchen, where Loki stands amidst a plume of smoke. His eyes like lasers locked on the charred remains atop the stove.

“Stay back,” he warns, his arm out as a blocker. “You don’t need to see this.”

You drudge forward anyway, staring down at the pan left on the stove. Caught in the center is a mess of black destruction, the only reminder that any food had ever been there.

“Have you never... cooked before?” You ask, stifling laughter behind the palm of your hand, trying to will it back down your throat. But as you look at Loki, at his frustration, how the almighty God had been defeated by a simple lack of culinary expertise, you lose control. It pushes past your clenched fingers in a roar, loud and unforgiving.

You laugh until your sides hurt and you have to grip the edge of the counter to stop from tumbling over.

You wipe a tear from your eye as you turn to meet Loki’s gaze. His brows are folded, his hands held together in tight fists. “I was trying to make you breakfast, you ungrateful little...”

You hush him with a kiss, placed from your tip toes.

“It’s wonderful,” you lie. “You’re wonderful.”

“Such a bad liar, my little mortal,” he mutters, but pulls you closer by your hips. “I’d much rather eat something else anyway... strawberries, perhaps.”

He smells clean, like fresh linen. Like he has been awake for hours, showered and dressed in preparation for you. His lips trail down your neck.

You catch sight of the time behind him and fumble out of his embrace.

“I should be going,” You shutter. “I can’t be late for work. My morning sickness has made me late too often already.”

“But you don’t feel ill today?” He asks. “Not at all?”

Not in the slightest you realize. “I need to get dressed...”

“In the wardrobe,” he nods back toward the bedroom. “There should be dresses in there that are to your liking.”

Did he buy you clothes? Why was he suddenly so attentive? So domestic?

You trek back into the bedroom, and find several dresses hanging within the closest. You are relieved to find they aren’t all in green. Instead, they are an assortment of various styles and colors. You select one with a bellowing, high waisted skirt, in hopes to hide the extent of your belly beneath it. You quickly pull out your cell phone and request a cab before Loki can even offer to drive you.

As you exit the bedroom, your eye catches sight of another room, the door slightly ajar. You dare to venture inside, but stand frozen in the doorway when you realize it’s purpose.

The blue tint of the wall. The charm swirling below the fan.

A _nursery_.

You step back, head low as you reenter the kitchen, refusing to mention it. Refusing to acknowledge it. Loki stands, keys dangling in his hands but you push past him, eyes locked to the floor.

“I called a cab,” you say bluntly, opening the front door, the bright yellow of the service car catches the sunlight in the driveway.

His hand grips firmly against your bicep.

“Why won’t you look at me?” he asks sternly. “Look at me, pet.”

Your hand falls off the door handle, the metal knob jostling slightly.

“You saw it, didn’t you?”

You look away, past him toward the ocean.

“Look at me.” His words are an order. Harsh and demanding. Your eyes jolt to meet his.

“Do you want this?” You ask in full sincerity. “Do you want the kind of life this child is going to force upon us?”

His eyes narrow until you can barely see the glimmer of his rich emerald eyes.

“He isn’t going to force anything upon us,” he says. “What is it you want? Do you not want this? Do you not want me here?”

The cab horn honks behind you and you stumble out the door, leaving Loki standing in the doorway. His question left unanswered.

You settle into your new desk at work, fumbling to adjust your chair and angle your monitor just right. _Focus on work_ , you tell yourself. _Focus on your job. Let everything else become background noise._

But just as you are settling into a stack of mission reports, the last remnants of your former position, Sofia slams her hands against the reflective surface of your desk. She carefully slides a thick green smoothie in front of you, having been accustomed to your avoidance of breakfast. And insists on keeping you well nourished. For the baby.

“You’re dead,” she mutters. You can practically hear the sound of her teeth grinding together in frustration.

“This is gross,” you say with a smile as you sip on the gift of breakfast. Your way of saying thank you. You suddenly catch the shimmer of a sapphire hanging from a thin chain at the base of her neck.

“When did you get that?” You ask, wide eyed. “Is Tony trying to use bribery now to win some sort of favor with you? Cause if he is, that’s pretty shitty of him to do to Pepper...”

“I bought it,” she replies bluntly. “With the money your baby daddy handed over on Sunday. You never came back either. I had to call in a favor just to make sure you were alive Monday because someone doesn’t know how to answer a goddamn text.”

“A favor?” _Steve_. He’d shown up rather unexpectedly at the range... You shake your head. “So is that why I’m dead?”

“No, today you are dead because you have a date with Captain America and you didn’t bother to tell me!” She growls, louder than you’d like.

“Keep your voice down!” You pull her toward her office, just down the hall. “Who did you hear that from?”

“Half the company knows,” she replies. “Natasha apparently won’t shut up about it.”

You let out a low groan. “That damn spy...It’s not a date,” you say. “But I’m going to tell him I can’t go anyway.”

“Why?”

“Because I just can’t,” you reply in a whisper, rubbing your neck.

“What do you mean you can’t?” Her eyes widen as her gaze locks upon your neck. “Is that a hickie, young lady?”

You smack your palm flesh to where Loki had bitten you the night before. You blush just from the recall. Suddenly craving strawberries...

“Did you and Steve...?”

“God, no!”

“Wait, did you and Loki...?”

You bolt forward to cover her mouth with your hand. “I can’t go on a date with Steve because he and I are... working things out.”

You let your hand fall.

“What, working out some kinks?”

“Shut up, Sofia...” your lips crack into a small smile. “Besides, he is quite the jealous type.”

“Go on the damn date,” Sofia says, arms folded over her chest. “Make him jealous. I’d love to see the little weasel squirm.”

You roll your eyes.

“He’d kill Steve the second he found us together,” you mutter. And by the look Sofia gives you, she knows you aren’t exaggerating. Loki became the darkness in his heart, the all consuming fire burning to kill, when his rage had a focus. Had a target. And Steve’s shield was looking more and more like a bullseye by the minute.

Your eyes drift past Sofia, going wide as you catch sight of Tony Stark approaching down the hall. He never shows up to these offices, neither did... your gaze locks onto Steve as he and Natasha move into view, flanking either side of Tony.

“Preggers,” Tony greets with a wide grin. “Meeting, now.”

“Excuse me, don’t call me...”

“Now,” he repeats, nodding his head to encourage you to follow. So you do, stepping in line beside Steve.

“What’s this about?” You ask in a whisper.

Steve merely shrugs in response as Tony leads you to the floor’s largest conference room, overlooking the skyscrapers of downtown.

“You’re in luck kid,” Tony announces, once you’ve all been seated. “We have your first big girl mission, if you’re up for the task.”

“And what would that be?” You ask, leaning back against your chair to study him across the table.

“Romanoff told us you gained Loki’s trust during your little trip to Sakaar,” he replies.

She’s smirking at you. That damn snitch is smirking at you.

“Trust is a relative term with Loki...” you mutter.

“Regardless, we want you to use whatever kinship you’ve established with him to bring him in. To bring him down.”  
  
You gape at him. “I’m not going to be a pawn in your attempts to kill him!” 

Tony raises an eyebrow in interest but before he can speak, Natasha interrupts. “We don't plan on killing him,” she explains, coolly. “I’m sure you wouldn’t be too happy about that. But our methods can be quite... severe during interrogation. I can’t promise he will be alive once we are through with him.”

“No,” you growl, glaring at her. “I won’t do it. I won’t help you.”

“Do you want to keep your job, agent?” Tony scowls. “This is your decision. Your grave.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Tony, enough,” Steve growls beside you. “She doesn’t know anything.”

“We know he is in New York,” Tony continues. “Some of our operatives reported seeing him in the vicinity just the other day. Some even said he left with you... that sort of association alone could get you killed. And there is that odd video making the rounds on social media of a couple arguing in a coffee stop ... “

“Get on with it Stark,” you growl.

“Either you are the one to convince him to come here, to walk in here, to hand himself over without a fight... or we will find someone else who won’t leave any piece of him behind for you to collect in his memory.”

You realize that, up until this point, you’ve been holding onto the edge of the table, your nails threatening to dig holes into the grain of the wood. You channel all of your anger there, into that solid grip. Into the very tips of your fingers that seem to sizzle in response.

Steve whispers your name and your eyes dart to him, in accusation, as if he meant to convince you himself. But you follow his gaze toward your hands, where you’ve left small icicles against the surface. You jerk your hands away and head for the door. You don’t bother to look back as you storm out of the room.

You only realize once you’ve made it halfway down the hall that Steve has followed you out.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Don’t listen to Tony. We won’t make you do anything you aren’t prepared to do.”

“You all think he is still a monster,” you growl. “You don’t know him at all.”

“And you do?”

You meet his gaze and there is a soft sadness hidden beneath the blue of his eyes.

“Listen, about Saturday...”

“Forget it,” You blurt out, too quickly. “I can’t go. So just forget about it.”

“Is it something I did?” He asks, his eyes pulling some forgotten warmth out of your icy heart. Making you wither with regret. “If it’s too much pressure, we can wait until after...”

“I just can’t, Steve.” Your hand falls against his chest. “I’m sorry.” You can feel his heart racing beneath the palm of your hand. You pull away, flushed.

His lips curl into a small empathetic smile. “So I suppose you worked things out with the father.”

You nod. “It’s complicated but yes... yes, I did.”

“Then I’ll tell Tony the offer is out of the question. I’ll tell him...”

“You tell Tony,” you begin, gazing up at him with a renewed rage. Not meant for him. “If he wants to get his hands on Loki, he has to go through me.”


	49. IV. Vows

That night, as you return home, you know before you can even get through the door that you have a visitor. You can sense him at the doorway, slinking around your apartment, turning over knick knacks for examination, pillaging through your underwear drawer.

“Find anything interesting?” You call into the otherwise empty apartment.

He comes around the corner, out of your bedroom. Dangling, looped between his fingers, is a sheer excuse for clothing, a silk unmentionable you had long forgotten about. Bought on a whim one lonely Valentine’s Day.

“Why, pay tell, have I not seen this?” He asks with a smirk as he leans against the doorway.

You snatch it from his talons, dropping your laptop at the door.

“I didn’t realize you had a thing for negligee,” you retort. “Besides, do you really think that’d be on my body for more than a few seconds before you tore it to shreds?” It may have lacked any substantial volume, but it had practically cost you half a week’s paycheck.

“Has anyone seen you in it?” His eyes are dark against the faint glow of the living room lamps. _Jealous creature_...His hands are already working with the small zipper at your back, beginning it’s descent toward ruin. The dress slides off your shoulders before it is nothing but a rippling puddle on the floor.

“No.”

“Good,” he growls. “I’ll be the only one to see it. If only for a moment. Before I feel that silk between my teeth.”

He steps back to look at you, the roundness of your belly unbelievably larger, growing by the hour now.

“I went a month without seeing you,” you start to explain, eyes wide in panic upon your stomach. “A month and I hardly showed. He could have been a normal human child for that month. But now...”

Your hands swoop down to cup the extent of your pregnancy, when you feel movement, the murmur of life within you. That panic is swept away, replaced by delight almost instantaneously as you reach for Loki’s hand. You place it just above the point of contact. Against your child.

“Do you feel that?” You ask, eyes alit with glimmering anticipation.

His seems to melt into you, pulling you closer as your child squirms in reaction to his father’s proximity. As if pushing closer, strengthening the bond. You see in Loki’s eyes what is reflected in your own, a joy for your creation. A joy of parenthood. One neither of you asked for but neither of you would turn away from.

He kisses you softly, lips lingering, curved into a full grin.

“He is strong already,” he hums in approval, gazing down at your round belly.

“Like his father.”

You reach down and cup his chin between your fingers, pulling him back up to eye level. So you can relish in that expression. In that purity you so rarely got to glimpse at before it faded into rage. But tonight, it stays. And he is yours.

And in that moment of clarity, all of your former hatred fades into the descending sun beyond those four apartment walls. You only feel a soaring love for him filling every broken crack left in your heart.

“I want you,” you affirm, knowing he was still waiting for an answer from that morning. “I want our child. I want this life. More than anything.” And you mean it. Every fiber within you was screaming out for him. As if the ropes of destiny held you in. But not by force. You had willingly submitted.

“So don’t you dare run from me,” You demand, a chorus crying out from somewhere deep inside of you. “Don’t run from this, because I will fight for you with everything I am. With everything you’ve made me. I will protect you. Protect everything I’ve made _you_. And I pray, Loki, I pray you will do the same for me. That you won’t give up so easily, not like you did on that bridge.”

He leans his forehead to rest against yours, his breathing heavy, before he falls to his knees before you. His breath a cool cascade over you, before he kisses your bare stomach and reaches for your hands.

“I want you. I will fight for you,” He begins as a repetition, an echo of your own words. As if it were a sacred vow. “ I will protect you. And I will love you until I’ve taken my last breath and walk with you into the gates of Valhalla.”

He kisses each of your hands, and a small, vibrating sensation rises up your arms and plummets deep inside your chest. Looking down, you swear you can see faint imprints on your skin to indicate its trail, like fairy dust. A stroke of starlight painted over your flesh. You exhale deeply, your breath a mist in front of you. And it’s as if you can hear his heart beating inside of you, feel his desire as strongly as your own, mingling together, becoming one.

And you believe him. You believe every word.

You stand in silence, studying every intricate fleck of color in each iris. You run your fingers along his jawline, lost in his abyss.

“What shall we name him?” He asks, to break your hypnosis, in a smooth murmur.

“Somehow I feel a Midgardian name isn’t what you had in mind...” you smile.

His lips match your own, in a wide curve against you. “Freyr.”

You repeat the name, testing it out for yourself. It sounded almost like...

“Frigga,” he answers, his hand held to your stomach, feeling every small response from your child floating in a suspended embrace within. “She would have loved you. I wish she could have met you.” For a moment, you aren’t sure if he is speaking of you or of your child. Perhaps both. Mother and child. You cradle your hand over his and pull him to the bedroom.

You lie in bed, both of you bare against the silk. Loki nestles himself against your chest as you slowly stroke his hair. Meanwhile, his fingers delicately trace circles around your stomach. As if he were painting a beautiful masterpiece over your skin. Those fingers his tools. He would stop every so often when your child responded, to chuckle in delight and kiss you softly.

It is the most intimate thing you’ve ever done.

“I wonder if he will look like you,” you murmur dreamily, a lock of his hair caught between your fingers. “If he will have your hair or your eyes.”

“I hope he looks of us both,” he answers. “I want to see the evidence of our love in him. Living. Breathing. Alive and thriving.”

And with the tinge of power caught between your fingers, you reach forward so that your hand is held against the moonlight for him to see. And you pulse that power out into the air. Until an icy mist falls over you both. Soft like snow flakes.

He turns up to look at you, holding you in his arms. His eyes are set with bewilderment. And something close to pooling lust.

“I noticed it today,” you explain. “The frost giant genetics, I assume?”

“He is growing so fast, so strong,” he whispers. “He is no Midgardian. Not even close.”

Those green eyes dance over you, from your own burrowing gaze to your parted lips.

“Come with me to Asgard.”

You open your mouth to speak but he hushes you with a kiss before his lips trail off your own.

“Our child should be born there. Raised there.” He kisses you neck, your collarbone. Leaving tender love bites in his wake. “Not here where he will be made a spectacle like your so-called heroes.”

“You told me once before you wanted me to stay with you in Asgard,” you recall in a whisper. “What you promise me here... I won’t let you forget a single word.”

He chuckles softly against your breast. “Hold me to them then, my pet. Punish me if I falter.”

“I have a lot of making up to do after our child is born,” you coo. “A lot of bad behavior to correct.”

“As do I, devilish woman.” His lips are at your navel.

“What have I done to deserve your punishment, master?” You purr. You continue to stroke his hair, encouraging him as he continues his descent toward your awaiting wetness.

“For flirting with that man,” he growls, lips hovering over the bundle of nerves just at the apex of your thighs.

You reach for his chin, pulling him toward you before he can supply you with the pleasure you ache for.

“Perhaps I do these things to drive you crazy. To make you want me that much more. To want to possess me.”

You kiss him softly and add, “My jealous king.”

He purrs at the title, vibrating with satisfaction, a quiver down his back. How quickly that anger fades under your touch.

The title had once been given as part of your ruse. When the only title you could have hoped returned to you was “pet”, as his pleasure slave and lover. But now, as the mother of his child, as his partner, you feel more like...

“My loyal queen,” he answers and you let him fill that ache, fill you completely until you cry out for him. Your hands are at his back, marking your territory in deep strokes. He kisses you over and over. His mouth, his tongue as cold as the winter breeze circling the room in a reflection of your lovemaking. Sweeping out the open window, and cascading down into the streets below.

Snow in the summer time. A sign of the times.

Time loses its meaning amidst the feeling of his skin and sweat and tears. And you imagine that hold of fate around your neck like your chains on Sakaar. Only back then, Loki held to that control, pulling you forward. Now, the chain is linked to his own neck, and you pull him toward you, toward your future together.

You miss work, two days of it, as Loki takes you day and night. Each touch a promise, each caress a vow of his love. You would leave for Asgard Sunday, affording you the time to say goodbye to the remnants of life you would be leaving behind on Earth. You stumble into the office Friday, solely to bid those who mattered a fitting farewell. There was no hiding the extent of your pregnancy, your belly now a predominant feature. But you aren’t strained or worn by the added weight. You are radiating. And it’s visible by the glow of your cheeks, the shimmering hue of your hair, the light reflecting in your eyes. Perhaps Loki was right, that he was the cause of the bizarre gestation. Or it was just the biology of a frost giant. But as you advance toward Sofia’s office, that lovely glow seems to fade as you feel every eye turn towards you, sharp as knives. You slink through the door, only to find Tony sitting atop her desk.

“I’ll come back later,” you mutter making back for the door.

“Holy shit!” Tony bolts to his feet, his eyes glued to your stomach. “We need to call a priest.”

Sofia’s eyes are wide with panic as she rounds the other side of her desk to come in front of you. Her hands immediately go to your stomach.

“How are you this far along... I saw you just a few days ago and you weren’t... its barely been more than a month, sweetie.”

Your eyes dart to Tony and as if reading your mind, Sofia pushes him out the door and slams it shut. You hear him sulk off with a curse.

“What the hell is going on?” She barks. “I’ve been worried sick! You don’t call, you don’t answer my texts. You haven’t been into work. And now you look like you are moments away from giving birth.”

“We don’t know if it’s biologically normal for his kind or something else,” you reply. You settle into a chair she hastily pulled up behind you.

“We...” she laughs lightly. “What is he?”

“You saw his DNA. You know he isn’t of Asgard. He is something else. Something...”

“Terrifying?”

“Beautiful.”

Your eyes lock in a gaze. “He is a frost giant,” you explain. “But he has been disguising himself for so long under that mask that it’s as if...”

“That illusion has effected his biology,” Sofia confirms. “I can’t explain it yet but there was Asgardian DNA within him, within you. Not enough to define him but enough to be significant. That’s why I was able to convince Maria back then when we first met. Perhaps that is the cause ... or the effect of having held that illusion so effectively his whole life. Perhaps the magic used on him was a bit altering.”

Still your God. Still your immortal lover. And yet still _Other_.

“I’m leaving with him for Asgard,” you tell her finally. “In two days.”

Sofia falls against her desk. “You can’t travel like that.” Her voice is stern. A doctor’s order. “Even it is on the wings of a sacred Pegasus...or whatever the hell those Asgardians do. You would be putting your life and your baby’s life at risk.”

“Sofia.” Your eyes reflect your plea.

“Don’t give me that look.” Her arms fold over her chest. “And don’t let him manipulate you either. Frost Giant or God, he is still a man.”

“I’m not a child,” You bark. “I love him, Sofia.”

“And you are pregnant with his child. Your hormones are soaring, looking for a place to land. To settle.”

“To settle?” You choke. “This isn’t my hormones talking. I’ve never been so certain about anything.” You grip the edge of the desk, already feeling the tendrils of your child’s icy power responding to your anger, flowing into your trembling hands. “I’m leaving for Asgard. And I had hoped you would see me off. To let me go.”

She lets out a sigh then, reaching for your hand. But immediately pulls her hand away from your cold touch.

“Is that...?”

“Another strange side effect.” You rub your hands over your stomach. “I thought you'd want me to be happy.”

“Of course I want you to be happy,” she replies. “But Is it so wrong to want to be the one that helps you deliver that baby?”

You smile against the simmering anger, letting is glide off your shoulders like morning dew. Warming your hands, you reach for her.

“Come with us then,” you offer. “Come with us to Asgard. You could meet their healers, learn about their form of medicine.”

“How can I say no to an offer like that?” Her smile is small, set against eyes that hold all of her hesitation.

“I promise you he is different.” Your grip on her hand is firm and reassuring. “He is a different man than the one you saw here all those years ago.”

“I truly hope so,” she replies. “For both your sakes.”

The door bursts open then and Thor runs in with Tony at his tail. He ploughs into you, capturing you in the expanse of his arms.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks, his voice a thunderous roar of joy. “Why didn’t either of you send word? I had to pry the information from Heimdall, who has been acting weirdly suspicious.”

Thor falls to his knees and speaks toward your stomach. “Hello in there, little fella!”

Tony hangs by the door for a moment before bridging the gap and clapping his coworker on the shoulder. “Congrats, buddy,” he says. “You’re gonna be a dad.”

Thor turns, with you still held in his embrace. His cheek is pressed against your stomach.

“A what?” He mutters. “Tony, I don’t think you understand. I’m not the father. I’m the unc...

You shoot a warning glare at Thor who seals his lips shut. But the damage has already been done.

“Uncle,” Tony mutters. “You’re the Uncle?”

He slams the door shut with a force that could have sent the wood splintering. His metal arm held against it.

“Where are you hiding reindeer games, preggers?”


	50. IV. Birth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a hard time NOT posting when I have this story completed on my end :P did I say I needed a hiatus? Lol I should be able to post all of this for you guys before I leave for my honeymoon. Stay tuned :)

“She doesn’t have to tell you shit, Tony,” Sofia says before you can even think of a valid rebuttal to throw back toward the Iron Asshole, whose hand is now fully wrapped in armor. Twitching and glowing.

Thor is stationed in front you, his pose defensive. “Tony, let’s not do this here...”

“She is harboring a fugitive!” He snaps. “Your brother, the murdering little worm who nearly got us all killed. Ring a bell? And now we will have his spawn to deal with!”

“His spawn?” Thor chocks. “You’re talking about my nephew, remember...”

“How the hell could you even let him touch you?” Tony asks you. “After everything he’s done. After everything he is.”

“Loki isn’t that man anymore,” You bark, before anyone can speak for you. “I was with him for months on Sakaar, Tony. _Months_. He’s changed.”

Thor looks at you with warm eyes.

“Do you even hear yourself?” Tony glares. “How many times did you almost get killed because of him on Sakaar? How many more will you let him try?”

He had read your report, had read through those lies, when you had glazed over how bad it had truly been. And of course, how close you and Loki had truly gotten. Though, they all had begun to suspect. Thanks to Natasha...

So honestly, how could anyone be so shocked?

“And now we are reenacting Rosemary’s baby. Does Fury know about this?”

“No,” Sofia barks. “And he won’t know. You know the minute he does the child will become nothing more than a pawn for him to use and manipulate.”

“Let’s just assume for a second that this... thing isn’t going to grow up to be like his sleeze ball of a father. What’s to say we couldn’t help to raise him?” Tony’s eyes lock onto you. “I had to chip off the remnants of your temper tantrum from the table after our meeting. That kid is anything but normal. He won’t ever be normal.”

“We are talking about a child!” Sofia screams. “Can you even consider what they might want for their child? How they want to raise it?”

You push back against the edge of Sofia’s desk as the two of them continue to argue. You can feel your child responding to your emotions, turning and twisting within you. A cool sweat coats your brow and a low pressure bears down on you.

Thor turns around and pushes closer. He immediately reaches for your hand against the desk.

“So you know what he is,” he says in a whisper. “What he really is?”

You nod. “Why did he send me away that night? What made him so afraid?”

Thor’s grip tightens around your hand, a cage around your fingers.

“I’ve never seen him so afraid,” he replies softly. “My brother rarely lets his emotions surface. Besides his rage... he prefers to let the world see him as the monster he’s created. But you... you broke down his shields. And I think being that vulnerable was something so new to him that he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“But he was broken after you left. That month, I barely saw him until I watched him leave through the bifrost. I had Heimdall keep an eye on him. And on you. I wasn’t sure how soon to run after him but when I find out you were pregnant...”

He leans into you. “We need to find him and get you both back to Asgard.”

But before you can blink, a rush of liquid flows down your legs, pooling between your feet and seeping into the carpet. You grip onto the wood behind you, your knees trembling.

Sofia’s eyes dart toward you and you instantly know what has happened. What’s about to happen.

“My water....” you mumble. “My water just broke.”

“We have to get her to the medical wing,” Sofia orders. “Now!”

Thor swings you into his arms and you cling to him, the pain numbing your legs, your child pushing for release. Your nails find their home inside his shoulder as you scream out in agony. Thor barely reacts but when you lift your head, you see a smear of ice held beneath your hand, coating his shoulder. You can’t even formulate an apologize before another wave surges through you and your scream reverberates against the walls. It alerts every agent’s attention toward your limp form held by the Adonis Avenger.

Tony leads the charge, barking orders at meandering agents to clear the way as you race down the hall. You all slide into an elevator and soar up to the medical ward. It is a smaller version of the one you’d first visited in their central headquarters. But you pray Sofia will have the tools she needs to...

“Oh god!” The contractions clench down on you like the grip of a boa constrictor, urging you to give up. To let go. Thor’s arm is now encased in a cocoon of icy webbing as the radiating pain from your core sends your body into the chaotic push and pull of survival instincts. And your child responds in tow.

“Place her down gently,” Sofia orders and Thor manages to comply, despite his incapacitated right arm. You are laid on an examination table and immediately grip the edges. You turn and look at Sofia who is an image of professional calm. She’s done this before, you remind yourself. You’re in good hands. You reach for her.

“He should be here.” Your voice is strained. “Loki should be here.”

“There isn’t time for that.” She smooths back your hair. “This baby is coming and I need you to push.”

Your eyes clench shut, a smear of tears coating your lashes. And you push. Out of some strange primal instinct.

_He should be here_ , you think over and over. _I want him here. I want him beside me_.

You call out for him, pushing. Sofia is between your legs, coaching you through breathing.

“That’s it,” she keeps saying. “You’re doing great.”

But you scream. _I am going to tear apart. Loki. Loki_. Your hand searches the empty void beside you. Reaching out, willing him to your side.

The room goes still around you. Sofia’s gloved hands at your entrance. She is still breathing in time with you but something has changed in the atmosphere. A shift in the air. A cool hand grips your own and you know it’s the pain making you hallucinate. Making you will his image into your mind. Your eyelids flutter open and you see him standing there beside you. Out of breath and pale. But he is there.

“My love,” he whispers before kissing your brow. “I’m here. I’m here.”

And all your pain eases away. That kiss willing it into the shadows. And you push.

A cry echoes around you, vibrant and alive. And the room goes cold. As if winter had whirled in from the unrelenting wilderness. Capturing every corner of the room in it’s frozen embrace. Something soft and cold cascades onto your cheek. But you can’t see anything but him, your baby boy, craddled in Sofia’s arms. A patch of dark hair. Pale skin, not blue. And his mouth wide as he cries and cries.

Sofia whisks him away and panic numbs you. _Don’t take my baby away. Please don’t take him away_. You grip onto the illusion. His touch feels so real. And just as you fear he may be gone forever, Sofia returns with your child, clean and bare. And still crying in her embrace.

She settles him in against your chest and the instant your skin makes contact, he soothes. His eyes opening to meet your gaze. His brown eyes stare up at you with subtle flecks of red catching the light of the room, hinting at the core of his nature.

“He looks like you,” you purr happily. You reach out a finger toward him and his tiny hand grips around you.

Another kiss to your brow and your heart stills. You look up from your child and reach for him, your hand settling against his cheek.

“Are you really here?” You ask, your vision a fog of forgotten pain.

“I am here,” he affirms, kissing the palm of your hand. He reaches for your child, caressing his small cheek. “Hello, Freyr.”

His voice is a lullaby, as he whispers to you and your child in turn. _I love you. I am here_. And you give into exhaustion, falling into a deep sleep as you listen to the soft breathing of your child, cradled against your chest. And the murmurs of your lover at your side.

When you wake, you feel the cocoon of warm sheets around you. You struggle to sit up, all energy reserves lost in the effort of child birth. But somehow, you feel you should be worst off. You dare to peer beneath the blankets, down at your stomach. And it’s as if you were never pregnant at all. As if it were all a dream.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

You turn to see Nick Fury sitting at your bed side. His hands folded beneath his chin as he leans forward on his elbows.

“Why are you here?” You glare. Pulling back the blankets, you attempt to stand, to leave, but your legs are jelly. Perhaps the only reminder that you had, in fact, just given birth. “Where’s Freyr?”

“He is safe,” he replies, too bluntly.

“Where?”

He doesn’t respond.

Your feet hit the floor and you stumble forward. Fury reaches out to catch you but you push him away.

“I want my child!” You scream.

“What did you think was going to happen?” Fury asks. “Did you think he’d whisk you away to Asgard, crown you his queen? That was never Loki’s plan. He just wants this child. He wants his heir.”

“Don’t talk about him as if you know him!” You glare. “I’m sick and tired of everyone speaking about him. About us. You know nothing.”

“I’ve seen enough to know you wouldn’t be safe with him. I’m trying to protect you and your child...”

“You’re trying to use us!” You scream, finding your footing. “Where is he? Where is Loki?”

“Gone.”

Your eyes are wide. “What do you mean... gone?”

“He vanished. Left you here. Alone.”

“Liar!” You fall to your knees, unable to stand. “You’re a liar!”

You’d been a pawn in enough of the Liar God’s own games to know when you were being deceived.

“Sir,” a voice calls from the door. “You are needed in the interrogation wing.”

Fury stands but turns toward you one final time.

“Try to rest. You will need a clear head to deal with the truth of your decisions.”

You stare up at him from the floor. “You all say Loki is the villain but I know who the real monsters are.”


	51. IV. Motherhood

You pull yourself down the hall, the room tilting. You cling to the wall for balance though it feels sleek beneath your hand. Your breath clouds your vision in a puff of white mist. _Why is it so cold?_

You know Loki is still here, likely held prisoner. You can feel the tug of that strange connection between you pulling your body forward. But where was Freyr? You’d have to find him. You’d have to get the three of you out of this hell hole.

_Home. I want to go home._

Just ahead of you, you catch sight of Steve, lingering outside of the medical ward. He lunges for you the minute he sees you, balancing you with extended arms.

“What are you doing?” His eyes are wide. “You should be on bed rest. I’m suppose to make sure you...”

“Steve,” You whisper, gripping onto his biceps for support. “What did Fury do to Loki? Where is my son?”

Steve’s eyes dart down the hall before he pulls you into an empty room, shutting the door behind him. He’s led you into a small meeting room, the wall lined with chairs. He helps you sit before he settles down beside you.

“He is being kept underground,” Steve whispers. “In the interrogation wing.”

“Interrogation wing?” You repeat, remembering your own experience in a gray washed room with flicking fluorescents over head. When you first came to earth. When Loki sent you away.

“They are trying to force information out of him,” Steve explains. “About what he really is. About his plans. They are... torturing him.”

“His plans?” You blink. “He doesn’t have any plans...”

“He is S.H.I.E.L.D.’s enemy. And none of them believe he is merely here for you. They all think he has other reasons to be here. For his child.”

So he knew. They’d told him. But maybe he’d always known you belonged to Loki. From the second you rejected him, he knew you were already claimed.

”Do you believe that as well?”

Steve’s gaze locks to yours and he sighs softly. “I believe you. And I believe that if you love him, he must have a soul, a conscience.”

“Please, Steve,” you say in a whisper. “You have to help me get him out of here. They’ll kill him.”

He stares at you with an empty longing, his lips a tight line.

“At least tell me this... I need to hear you say it,” he whispers. “Do you trust him? Do you trust his intentions, his motivation to be here?”

“I trust him with my life,” you reply.

Steve stands. “Then I’ll trust you with mine,” he says. His clouded eyes hold onto you, pulling you to stand. “I’ll take you down there. Thor is confined as well. Held as a coconspirator after he and Loki killed the responding team sent in attempts to retrieve Freyr. I wish I had been there... I should have been... perhaps if I had she wouldn’t be...”

With his hand held to the door handle, you reach up and gently kiss his cheek. “But you are here now. And you are the only friend I have left.”

He smiles weakly before taking your hand and guiding you out of the room and down toward the interrogation wing. But as you pass the medical ward, you linger.

Inside, it is a wasteland of ice.

The elevator doors open and you cautiously walk toward Thor’s holding cell. It barely qualifies as a jail cell, appearing nothing like the ones you’d seen on Sakaar or Asgard. It is more similar to a small hotel room, only that the door is fashioned with a small window. Steve types into the keypad and the door eases open.

Thor’s eyes alit with fear when he sees you.

“Why did you bring her here? I told you to keep her safe!” He barks at Steve before standing and pulling you into a warm embrace. “Are you alright? How are you feeling?”

“Besides just giving birth, I’m peachy...” you breath, pulling away from him. “My safety isn’t priority right now. Loki and Freyr are. We are going home.”

”I tried to stop them. I wanted to stop them... but Loki just...” 

“Fury is likely with him now,” Steve interrupts as you both hear voices down the hall, elevating the urgency to your escape plan. 

The three of you start down the hall and the roar of laughter makes you halt. It is the sort of laughter that is masking pain, horrific unrelenting pain. _Loki._ You make to run but Thor grabs your arm, pulling you behind him.

Voices echo from the end of the hall with the origin of that heinous laughter.

“We can keep at this all night.” _Fury._ “Or you can give us what we want.”

Loki’s response is a chuckle that sounds muffled, as if he were drowning, as if he...

He coughs and spits before Fury begins again.

“Tell us where he is.”

_He... What was he...why was Loki enduring this? He could easy kill Fury..._

You near the door and through the small window, you see him. He is tied to a chair, his face hung low. And blood is pouring down off his chin, pooling onto the floor before his foot. His body is covered in welts. They've been beating him senseless. And yet he wouldn’t relent. Only providing the response of a man who had lost his mind.

Laugh after laugh.

“If you don’t tell us, I will bring her down here and make her watch as we kill you,” Fury growls. “Or better yet, I’ll make her do it.”

Loki’s head slowly rises and your eyes, at last, meet through the small pane of glass. And your heart breaks. His eyes are swollen, his lip split open. He does not break his concentration, showing no sign that he sees you standing there.

What did Fury want? What was Loki keeping from him?

_I am going to get you out of here_.

You turn to Thor, his own gaze locked onto Steve who is set on a neighboring cell. You step aside, watching as he opens the cell door with a quick dialing of the access codes. And there, slumped over in the cell, is a lifeless Sofia, arms bent behind her.

You lunge forward, pulling her onto her knees. You sigh in relief when you feel her breath pool over your shoulder as she tilts forward, all her weight held on top of you.

“Sofia,” You whisper, capturing her worn face between your hands. “What happened? What’s going on?”

Sofia blinks at you slowly. Stating your name. As if to confirm you are real. As you had with Loki.

Her gaze shifts slowly to Steve who hasn’t taken his eyes off her since they entered the cell.

”They told me you were dead...” His voice waivers as he nears her. 

”Someone needs to tell me right now what the fuck is going on!” You bark, glaring at the group while still balancing your friend against your chest. Her grip on your shoulders tightens.

“Fury wants Freyr. He wants...” Sofia coughs.

“Where’s Freyr?” Thor asks, pushing forward. _He doesn’t know?_ Steve comes around behind Sofia, picking her up and cradling her in his arms. She relaxes instantly, melding into the curve of his neck.

“I don’t know,” she whimpers, tears clouding her eyes. _None of them know..._ “After Thor and Loki killed those men, they were sadated and taken away. Fury came next, and it was just you and I. I tried sweetie, I tried to protect you both. I’m not strong. I’m not like them... but Freyr just... he just...”

“He vanished.”

You turn and your gaze locks onto Nick Fury, standing in the doorway to Sofia’s cell.

“I suspect Loki has hidden him from us. And I’d like to know where. And why.”

“Because he isn’t an asset!” you scream. “He’s a child!”

“A powerful child who froze half the building when he was born.”

You remembered the chill that followed his birth. But your focus was narrowed in on your child, on his soft breathing. Nothing else mattered. And you’d seen the medical ward, but you hadn’t believed it, hadn’t believed what you or Freyr could be capable of.

Your eyes settle onto his bloodied fist, held steady at his sides.

“I thought Natasha did the dirty work in the interrogations,” you growl.

He glares in your direction, without truly seeing you. “As much as she hates Loki, she refused the opportunity.”

_Why had she..._

“We know what your bother is,” Fury says, turning to Thor. “We know what power he truly possesses. The same as his child. And they are more deadly that we ever imagined.”

_Because she wouldn’t involve herself in something that put a child’s life at risk..._

You push closer to Fury. “Yes, they are quite deadly. Loki is far more powerful than any of you realize.”

Your eyes catch Loki’s from across the hall, his cell door flung open. He sees the fire in your gaze and answers your silent call, willing his dagger into your hand.

“But you forgot what is even deadlier...”

The dagger pushes against Fury’s throat.

“A mother after you’ve threatened her child.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got my husband to watch Thor Ragnorak finally. He still thinks I have the hots for Thor. I’ll let him be ignorant for a little while longer... lol


	52. IV. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *End of Part 4*

Loki smiles wickedly from the other side of the hall. _That’s my girl_ , he seems to say.

“I will kill you,” you whisper. “Or you can let us leave. With my promise that we will never return to Earth.”

Sofia’s eyes are wide in Steve’s arms.

“You’ll give up your home, your life, everything... for him?” Fury asks.

“I made up my mind a long time ago,” you reply. “He is my home.”

Fury blinks. Once. But he isn’t the one to give the order.

“Let them leave,” Tony says behind you, before walking into Loki’s cell and cautiously untying him. You had begun to wonder where he’d been. You vaguely remember seeing him edge out of the medical ward while you were in the fog of  childbirth. Perhaps he had realized how wrong he had been to cast the blame on you, to threaten you and your child. Perhaps he did have a heart, even if it was fabricated.

“Let them have their life, far away from here in Asgard,” he says. “Where none of them will pose a threat to Earth.”

Loki slumps forward, wiping the blood from his lips with the back of his hand.

You stare at Tony, perhaps for too long.

“Why are you helping us?” you growl.

“I’m not doing this for you, or for him.” His eyes hold onto Sofia, cradled in Steve’s arms. He had come looking for her. He was doing this for _her_.

You release the dagger from Fury's throat, the illusion becoming just a puff of smoke, and you run for Loki, almost knocking him backward with the force of your embrace. His arms reach up to stroke your hair, to kiss the part in your scalp. He is trembling against you.

You stand there, quietly holding each other as if it were only the two of you, locked in time and space.

“And you really think they’d keep a promise like that, Stark?” Fury barks. “You think for one second that monster will do as she says?”

“He’d die for her.” _Thor_. “As I see it, what she says, what she wants... that’s law.”

Thor walks forward toward you both, you turn your head to the side to look at him. His eyes flash with some sort of recognition before he turns away.

“I can assure they are kept in Asgard. To live the rest of their days there in peace.” His gaze locks onto Fury, adding, “Can you trust my word at least?”

Fury’s brows fold in a glare. He gives a grunt and a subtle, barely noticeable nod.

“You’ve all just written our death certificates, I hope you know that...” Fury grumbles.

“If she is his ticket off this planet, I’ll take what I can get,” Tony replies, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“Our house, by the ocean... “ Loki says softly so only you can hear. “You will never have that life as long as you stay with me.”

You feel the warmth of his blood, soaking into your blouse. Neither of you seeming to mind.

“I don’t care,” you murmur into his chest, kissing each wound, as if you could heal them by will alone. You look up at him, your eyes dazzling with concern. For him. For Freyr.

“He is safe,” he answers your wordless panic. “He is waiting for us to come home.”

“Then let’s go home.” Your lips find each others. A sleek metallic taste coats your mouth. You lick your lips. Savoring even that morbid taste of him on your tongue. “Take me home, my king.”

”Yes, my queen.”

“I have one question.”

You both shift toward Fury, whose eyes are set on Sofia.

“How did she recover from child birth that fast?” He asks. “How can she be standing, looking like that?”

You’d thought it yourself. That none of it made sense. Your stomach was taut, with little to no evidence that you were a mother, save for the enlargement of your breasts, swelling with milk for your child. And you felt reinvigorated, strengthened even.

As if you yourself had been reborn.

Sofia lifts her head from Steve’s shoulder.

“You ran tests, didn’t you?” Tony asks, looking at you and Loki, though his words were meant for the doctor. “What did they show?”

“She’s...” Sofia’s eyes lock onto you. As if she meant to say more, but she knows her audience. She knows who’s listening and what they’d want to hear. What they are anticipating. “She’s human,” she says instead. “I believe Loki used his magic to heal her.”

Fury locks onto Loki. “Is that true?”

Loki’s grip on your hand tightens. It wasn’t. He hadn’t done this.

“Yes,” he lies. “That’s why you were able to beat me to a bloody pulp without me killing you instantly. That sort of magic is draining.”

_Liar. You’re a liar. You endured that torture just to keep me safe. To distract Fury._

“Then leave,” Fury orders. “And if I see you so much as clear Earth’s atmosphere, my agents will be ordered to shoot to kill.”

You leave the cell, with Loki’s arm draped over your shoulder, limping. He makes you halt in front of Steve, his eyes dancing over the first Avenger.

“Consider yourself lucky,” he remarks, spitting out a mouthful of blood onto the floor at his feet. “If I had more energy, I’d make you regret having even looked at her with ill intent.”

“He helped save your life, you arrogant ass,” you growl beside him.

But Steve laughs. “Hey, maybe I’ll come to Asgard and you can fulfill that threat. Or maybe we can talk about it over a beer.”

“A beer...” he turns to you. “He wants to have a beer with me, the muling, halfwit...”

Thor reaches out to take the burden of his broken brother from you, pulling him away quick enough that his comment becomes just a muffled groan down the hall.

Steve gently places Sofia on her feet as you reach to hold her, your tears coating her golden hair. Her hand rests against the base of your skull, before she kisses your cheek softly.

“Stay safe, Kid,” she says, her voice cracking. “I’ll find a way to come visit you,” she whispers. You pull away but she holds steady. “You’re not...”

You nod, hushing her. You’d find a way to ask her later. To find out what exactly she saw in those tests that made her eyes wide with panic. What you had become.

“Take care of her,” you instruct Steve.

“Yes, ma’am.” His smile is a breath of fresh air, of summer, of spring pulling through winter. But you are winter now, you are ice and cold and darkness. Not meant for Steve.

“She’s a great dance partner,” you add with a wink before leaving them behind.

You pace forward, catching up to Thor and Loki, a blush of blood left in their wake. Thor leads you both up to the roof, equipped with a helipad. Loki collapses out of Thor’s hold, onto the hard ground beneath him.

You reach out for him.

“I’m fine,” he insists, waving your hand away.

“Liar.”

He weakly smiles up at you, finally letting you take his weight before the bifrost opens before you. Thor takes you by the hand,easing you forward. You stand between the two brothers and you know you are where you belong. With your family.

You cling to Loki as you soar through the bifrost and the Earth fades beneath you. You say goodbye as it become nothing more than a speck against the dark swirls of the universe. You bid your life as a mortal farewell along with it.

This is the second time you’ve traveled through that brilliant light, across the cosmos with Loki at your arm. How far you’d come since then, when you were both so set on destroying the other. How you’d become his slave, his lover, on the planet meant to be your ruin. How love had blossomed somewhere along the way, unwanted and refused at first. But now, as Loki holds you in his battered arms, it’s as if he might crumple without your support, without your guidance. That love had created a life between you.

_Freyr._

The bifrost settles and you stumble forward into Asgard. Thor takes Loki immediately to the healers while you linger behind, with Heimdall.

Your gaze meets his and he nods in greeting, as he had when you first met.

“Thor told me you watched us on Earth,” you say as way of returning his greeting.

“Loki would always block me out, so I was blind to his actions,” Heimdall replies. “But he was otherwise preoccupied on this visit and his shields were down.” He smiles. You hope that he wasn’t able to see everything through that guided sight.

“Do you know the legend of the two lovers, whose love was felt across all nine realms?” You ask softly. “Is that why you wanted to bring me here? Did you think he and I were...?”

“There are some things in life that cannot be explained,” he replies. “Some things beyond fate or reason. You going to that place in New York, in hopes of finding Loki, it was all part of some strange plan. Beyond you or I. We are mere players. Not the game makers.”

His golden, wolf-like eyes hold onto you, hold you in place before that rainbow bridge ahead.

“But you have been altered by fate,” he tells you softly. “Perhaps you are those famed lovers reborn. And perhaps you are just two people in love. Does it matter what you are?”

You lock your gaze toward the horizon, your legs willing you to run, to chase your future down that bridge.

“Go to him,” he says simply before you comply, and bolt off toward the golden city, leaving the gatekeeper behind you, standing at his eternal vigil.

The healers are fussing with Loki’s bandaging when you arrive. He is scowling at each of them and making comments under his breath any time they pull too tight or touch him where they shouldn’t. Already more like his former self. Only faint, healing scars remain as evidence of his torture at the hands of S.H.I.E.L.D.

He immediately sits up when he sees you, ordering the healers to leave you to the privacy of the room.

The air feels thick around you as you settle in beside him on the bed. As if you aren’t sure what to say, how to tell him everything that was on your mind.

“Sweet girl,” he murmurs, reaching for you. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Your fingers lock into place with his.

“Like your mind is wrought with conflict,” he whispers. “Like you may be wondering if you made the right decision.”

“Of course I did,” you assure with a kiss to his brow. “I don’t doubt that for a second.”

“Your hand is cold,” he notes, playing idly with your fingers.

“So is yours.”

Your eyes meet and a single thought passes between you.

“The medical ward was frozen, Loki,” you mutter. “Frozen. As if a frost giant had laid waste to it.”

“It was Freyr,” he says calmly. “It had to have been.”

“What if it was both of us?”

His eyes dance over you, over your hands, over the curve of your neck, over the line of your lips. Before he reaches up and smooths his thumb across your mouth.

“Why do you think that, pet?”

“Because I feel... because I am...”

“Changed?” he says with a glint of mischief hidden within those emerald ores. “Perhaps you have changed, perhaps your biology has altered. I’m not opposed to a little bit of experimenting to see just what is different about you now. If your quim is just as wet...”

It’s all you need to hear, it’s all he needs to say before your lips collide with his.

You straddle him atop the bed, pinning him in against the mattress. He groans a faint complaint.

“Old man,” you tease. “Have you gotten so weak that you can’t handle me on top anymore?”

He growls and bites your lower lip, pulling. “I’ll need my rest before we can properly play this game, kitten... be patient with me. We have the rest of eternity to fulfill all of our desires. I’ve hardly scratched the surface with you.”

“But you don’t want me right now?” You murmur in a kiss against his neck, placed against the sensitive flesh behind his ear. You grind your hips into his cock, stiff beneath you. He stifles a moan, gripping a fistful of your ass. “Your mouth says one thing, your body screams another...”

“Not now, temptress,” he growls. “There is a more pressing matter we must attend to besides my need to fill that beautiful dripping cunt of yours...” His fingers slip in between your legs, sliding over your lips, sleek with building arousal.

“Oh, dripping is quite the understatement...” he purrs.

“What is this pressing matter?” You whine.

His eyes meet yours. “Let’s go see our son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s a wrap on Part Four. Just 3 more chapters in Part Five. Thanks as always for reading and commenting :) this has been such a fun ride.


	53. V. Nursery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Part Five*

Loki had enough foresight in advance to Freyr being born to communicate with Heimdall through his Sight. Enough time to urge the bifrost to open and allow Lady Sif to take Freyr far away from where Fury or anyone else at S.H.I.E.L.D. could lay a finger on him.

One simple illusion was all it took to kill those men and convince Fury.

Freyr now lie peacefully asleep in the nursery of Asgard, gently rocking in his enchanted cradle. Laid out amongst many other new borns, all cooing happily in the safety of their wards. But your child was special. Loki had cast illusions to lull him to sleep, of fluttering emerald butterflies dancing over his head. You catch sight of him reaching up for them, even in his sleep. His small fingers gliding through their wings like ocean mist.

You remember those same butterflies easing your broken heart once in the faux garden on Sakaar. You reach for Loki’s hand, leaning to rest your head against his shoulder.

“He hasn’t cried once since I brought him here,” Lady Sif says, appearing beside you with Thor.

“He knows he’s home,” you reply with a smile.

Loki’s arm snakes around your waist. “As are you, my queen,” he whispers, before kissing the top of your head.

The four of you stare through the protective glass into the nursery. Midwives slowly walk through the path between each cradle, smiling down at each sleeping babe. They stop every so often to sooth a whimper, to hush any discomfort. You pull away from Loki and walk through the archway, emerging into the dimmed glow of the room. Like spelled starlight, held in time within that small oasis.

You sense your family falling in behind you as you lean over his cradle, reaching down to hold him in your arms. The butterflies fade as your arm dive through them to retrieve your son from the mountain of pillow and cloth. He stirs only slightly, enough to form in against the curve of your breast.

“He looks like you, Loki.” Thor is beaming down upon his nephew, pushing back the hair off his delicate forehead. So small. So fragile. Yet so loved.

“He may have your looks but lets hope he takes after his mother in all else,” Sif comments with a smirk.

“He will be as cunning and powerful as me,” Loki replies, holding your shoulders. “And as kind and forgiving as his mother.”

He reaches forward and you shift Freyr into his awaiting arms. Freyr’s eyes flutter open and the instant he beholds his father’s gaze, he smiles and laughs. It is the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. And that smile... how it seems to expel all of Loki’s pain in an instant. All the pain he had gathered inside of his heart over years of being unloved and mistreated, of being cast aside and forgotten. Replacing all of the emotion that had once drawn him to blood magic, with something you felt reflected within your own soul.

He kisses his son gently, humming softly to lull him back to sleep. He holds him steady, letting the minutes fade into an hour, while all of you sit beside them and watch in awe. None of you feeling quite courageous enough to pull him from the hypnosis of his son’s embrace.

After some time, you gently caress his shoulder.

“Let him sleep,” you say softly. “He isn’t going anywhere.”

He turns and after a moment, gives in, settling Freyr slowly back into his cradle. The magic of his bed quickly starts up again, a gentle sway back and forth.

Even the butterflies return.

He sighs and turns to Thor and Sif before his hand finds yours. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to show my lady all the beauty Asgard has to offer.”

Thor nods with a smile. “Can we expect you at supper?”

“Don’t expect us for a few days, brother.”

You blush as he pulls you from the nursery and out into the midday bustle of Asgard’s alleyways. The market is alive and thriving with activity. Children run by, catching your skirt up in a small gust of wind. The denizens that walk by smile at you. As if they know. As if they can sense you are more like them now than you are mortal. Whatever that could mean.

You pass a flower shop, and Loki stops long enough to pay for a simple white rose, tucking it behind your ear. His fingers brush down your neck.

“So what exactly do you plan to show me?” You ask. “What’s the most beautiful thing in Asgard?”

“I could be cliche and tell you I am looking right at it,” he says with a mischievous smirk that quickly cracks into laughter. “But that form of blatant flattery isn’t in my nature.”

“What is?”

He raises a solitary brow toward the heavens.

“What is in your nature?”

He pulls you into an abandoned alleyway. The same one you once saw in that glimpse of his memory. But the cobblestone isn’t covered in fresh rain this time. Only shadows.

His hand pins you in against the stone wall, his gaze a thing of ravenous lust.

“You want to know what’s in my nature...” he growls, his lips inching toward your throat. “Have I neglected to show you enough of it until now?”

“I feel quite neglected,” you tease, biting your lip before you feel his tongue trace down your neck. His own teeth sinking into your flesh. A gasp escapes your lips before fading into a moan, as you attempt to reach up to run your fingers through his hair. But his hand pins you down. And you cannot move.

“My nature is not gentle,” he growls, grabbing your tender breast, forced out from the fabric of your gown. “My nature is fueled by rage and lust. Are you prepared for that sort of life with me? To fulfill all my dark desires? To let me fuck you whenever, wherever I please?”

“Only if you let me do the same for you,” you murmur, your legs falling open, with a smirk. “But you’ll have to prepare to meet the consequences.”

“Consequences?” His grin widens.

You pull him up into a kiss, sliding your tongue into his mouth before adding in a moan, “When all of Asgard hears you fucking me. Every night and day. I don’t plan on being quiet.”

“Scream all you like, slut. That is... if your mouth isn’t preoccupied,” he whispers, a finger pushing past your parted lips. You suck before he yanks his hand away. He smirks as you groan in defeat, before he takes your breast into his mouth. Suckling hard enough to reward himself with a stream of milk meant for your child. You gasp, shoving against his shoulders, willing him to stop.

“Loki,” you moan in protest. But as his tongue swirls around your nipple, you are lost in the pleasure of it. Of him greedily drinking from you, moaning against your flesh as he laps up the nectar from your breast.

He pulls away, a trickle of your milk caught on the corner of his lips. His mouth is wide, his breathing heavy. He wipes it away with his thumb, the droplet caught on the tip of his finger. He forces your head back into a tilt, a fist wrapped around your hair, the droplet dangling over your extended tongue. It drops, the milk sliding down your throat.

“How does it taste, kitten?”

You lick your lips and it’s all the answer he needs, as he growls in approval.

“I will never tire of how you taste,” he moans. “Of every sweet liquid you supply me with.”

He sniffs and his lips curve into a wide grin.

“I can smell your cunt.”

His hand inches between your legs. “Are you already wet for me, my queen?” He lets go of a breath in a long sigh as his fingers glide over your panties, soaked through and useless. “Your body is so deliciously responsive to my touch.”

You pull away, wiggling from his hold to slink further down the alleyway.

“You think yourself so irresistible, don’t you?” You tease. “Loki, the god of mischief, the god of deviance, the god who likes to fuck little mortal girls...”

He grabs your neck to spin you around, a fierce hunger dripping from his fangs. “Shut up, slut.”

You drop to your knees at his feet. His hand goes instinctively to caress under your chin.

“Make me.”

Instantly, he shoves his freed cock into your watering mouth. And as you attempt to reach forward to stroke him, you find your hands restrained. The rough rope digging into your wrists. You groan against his cock.

“I love the way you suck my cock,” he growls above you, reaching back to tangle a fistful of your hair in his grasp. “But I love it even more when I get to fuck your mouth as I please.”

You pull back, gasping, and lick up the length of his shaft before he plunges back in, hitting the back of your throat. You are throbbing, desperate for him to take you in that alleyway. But your eyes catch sight of the entrance, the distant sounds of the market bouncing off the cobblestone.

Shame overwhelms you. This was your new home, your people. You were the mother of their heir and prodigy. While Thor remained King, Loki was his right hand and you would hold a place of honor in their hierarchy. You could not bear to be seen with his cock in your mouth, drunk off the taste of him. His slut you may be, but you were also his queen.

You look up, meeting his gaze, licking the pre-cum from your lips.

“We should stop,” you whisper before taking one more, lingering taste of his sex.

“Stop?” He says with a glare. “You dare ask me to stop? With my cock in your mouth?”

You nod slowly before he pulls you up by your hair and whispers against your glistening mouth.

“Wherever. Whenever,” he reminds you. But you look at him, pleading wordlessly with pouted lips, your gaze continuously darting toward the end of the alley. You hear a crowd getting closer and you whimper with dread. _Don’t let them see us. Please._

“Your love has weakened me,” He growls, defeated by your helpless expression. He smirks before grabbing you and throwing you over his shoulder like a rag doll. Your hands are still restrained behind your back.

“Loki!” You yelp, flailing your legs, kicking your feet into his back. He gives your ass a firm slap.

“I’m saving you from your useless humiliation, pet,” he growls, leaving his hand rested over your rear as he exits the alley way. “You can thank me later.”

The rose falls from your ear, left abandoned as evidence of your halted tryst as Loki re-emerges into the market. He smiles brightly at his fellow Asgardians, as if he didn’t have a woman draped over his shoulder. As if that same woman didn’t just have his hard cock shoved into her mouth. He exchanges pleasantries with shop keepers, murmurs about the weather with a group of soldiers and compliments a woman’s hair. All while you hide your face against his shoulder blade, the blood swept up over your cheeks in a crimson wave.

“Loki?”

You lift your head to see the Warriors Three approaching behind him, only partially armored for a stroll through the city.

Loki spins around swiftly, giving you minor whiplash.

“Good afternoon,” he says coldly.

“Giving your hostage a tour of Asgard?” Fandral comments with a tilted smirk.

“Hello again,” Hogun greets with a small nod, his hand gripped over his sword.

You shift and turn toward them, light headed from the forced position. You lift your fingers in a form of greeting beneath the restraints of the rope.

“Hello,” You say weakly.

Loki pulls you around so that he can hold you cradled in his arms, bridal style.

“We haven’t had a moment to see the little boy yet, but we are on our way to the nursery now,” Volstagg says, pushing his chest out. “Our first royal grandchild... I can hardly believe it! I thought for sure Thor would give us an heir first...”

“I’m still shocked Loki is fertile,” Fandral whispers to his friend. “I thought the lack of balls had an effect on that sort of thing.”

“If you don’t mind,” Loki begins with a deep growl. “Your infertile Prince is going to bed this beautiful woman to see if we can’t try for a daughter this time.”

You swear your blush gets even deeper then, if that were possible, before he whispers into your ear, “Would you like that, pet? Would you like to have another?”

You whimper before he laughs in response and carries you through the rest of Asgard.

Hogun’s eyes follow you as if he too can sense it. Sense that you aren’t the same mortal who first came to Asgard.


	54. V. Bond

You know better than to ask him where he is taking you. He carries you out of the hustling core of the city, toward the scattered inhabitants of the woods. Past some hunting camps, beyond a river bend.

Until you reach a small cabin nestled by a waterfall, glistening in the last remaining streams of the late afternoon sunlight. The trees around you are stocky and thick, blocking out the surrounding area. A faux sense of privacy.

“What is this place?” You ask softly.

He settles you down onto a smooth boulder by the water. You watch him as he walks around the edge of the pool, staring out at the ripples unearthed from the waterfall’s edge, fanning up to where the water meets the earth just at his feet.

“Frigga called it Marital Seclusion,” he says, turning toward you slightly. “A place for newly wed couples to live out the beginning of their wedded bliss.”

“Should we be here then?”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he paces toward you, reaching down for your rope restraints. You suck in air between your teeth as you feel the cool kiss of metal sliding between your wrists.

“You don’t want to keep me in those?” You ask playfully just before the rope cuts and you wiggle your wrists free, regardless.

“I want your hands free tonight,” he says coolly. You can hear him behind you, shifting out of his clothes. You swallow, hard.

“Are you sure?” Your heart is slowly thumping its way up your throat.

He comes into view, slowly walking into the water ahead, all of him bare. His head tilts to the side, a subtle cue for you to follow. You suddenly feel timid, shy in front of a man who has seen you naked countless times before. But something has shifted in the atmosphere, toward that cool descent into dusk. Your hands are shaking as you slowly pull the dress up over your head and step out of your undergarments.

When you look up, Loki is no where to be seen. Just the rush of the waterfall beyond and those beckoning ripples.

You inch forward, letting the cool water wrap around you, up to your waist. The curve of your breasts just barely touches the surface. Your feet slide across the floor of pebbles.

“Loki?”

No reply, and after a moment too long, you panic. Your arms reach out, searching the waters frantically, peering beneath the crystalline pool for signs of life. But you can only see the glossy pebbles staring back at you.

“Loki!”

Something caresses the inside of your thigh. You gasp, turning around, looking below the surface. But there is nothing, no sign of him.

And you moan, as that same sensation inches higher, sliding over your throbbing core. Your knees buckle, but there is nothing around you to hold onto for support. Just the water circling around you. You fumble forward.

“Loki, please,” you murmur in defeat. “Where are you?”

And just as quickly as he had vanished, he appears in front of you, catching you before you fall face first into water. He slides his hands from between your legs and pulls you forward by your hips. Once you’d steadied yourself, you push him away, glaring.

“You cruel, hateful God,” you growl, splashing him in anger. He laughs, and licks the water off his lips. He reaches for you again, and this time, you don’t resist.

“Did you want my hands free so I could splash water in your face?” You ask, defiantly doing it again, but only lightly this time.

He grins as you lean forward to rest your head against his chest. His arms reach around to hold you close against him. His chin settling atop your head as he slowly, affectionately strokes your hair. He pulls away and holds onto your hands, taking your fingers and tracing them along his chest.

“No, I wanted to allow your hands to freely roam my body,” he murmurs. “So you can know every inch that belongs to you.”

 _Belongs to me..._ It had always been the other way around. You in his possession. But never Loki in _yours_.

And you know you must be blushing by the way he chuckles above you. He kisses the top of your head.

“You asked if we should be here,” he whispers against your scalp. “We have every right to be here, you and I.”

“But we aren’t wed...”

He reaches under your chin and lifts your gaze to meet his. His other hand holds yours and for a fleeting moment, you see that fairy dust trail rise up your arm and soar towards your chest. You gape at your skin, before locking your eyes upon him.

“Those words we spoke on Midgard,” he begins in a gentle, caressing whisper. “They weren’t empty promises.”

You look down at his hand, interlocked with your own and see the same shimmer cast over his skin. A matching set.

“Very powerful, ancient magic.” He turns your hands over and moves his fingers up to trace the line of your veins. “Binding. Unbreakable. Can you feel it coursing through you?”

Your eyes go wide and he hushes your fears with a soft kiss, placed upon your knuckles.

“Not blood magic, my love. Much purer than that.” He settles your hand over his heart and you feel it racing, echoing inside of you. “We are bonded. Marriage pales in comparison to that.”

“I didn’t realize...” you start to say, willing your heart to slow. “I didn’t realize that’s what we were doing back then...”

“Your heart did,” he responds. “Your soul did. It was practically screaming at me. Willing me to perform the rite. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have worked.”

“What...wouldn’t have worked?”

He pulls you further into the pool, toward the waterfall and behind it. And just beyond that curtain of water, you watch the sun disappear past the distant arches of Asgard. Of Home. And in the darkness of the hollowed cave, you fall into his cold embrace.

“I know you can feel it,” he whispers against your neck, your skin moist with a cover of dew drops. “The way you’ve looked at me since that night. Looking for the answer in my eyes. You thought it was Freyr and yes, maybe he did have an effect on you as well. Your body catered itself for him. But who you are now, it’s because of our bond.”

“What am I now?” You ask softly, sighing as his lips wrap around your ear lobe, slightly nibbling on the tender flesh.

“You are neither mortal nor immortal,” he answers. “Neither Midgardian, or Jotun. You are your own being. But you will live as long as our love lasts.”

“And how long will that be?”

He turns you around, the mist of the waterfall heavy against your back.

“For all of eternity.”

And your lips meet with such intensity you have to stop yourself from stumbling into the waterfall with the force of his embrace. You grip to his shoulders as his tongue dances along the sides of your mouth. And you feel that bond strengthen, radiating through your body and melding into his kiss.

He pulls you backward, hiking your legs up around him and backing you in against the wall of the cave, sleek but firm. The stone smooth against your spine. His lips leave yours suddenly, to softly smooth down your neck. You can feel his need hard against your thigh, pushing toward your core. His breathing is heavy, his eyes laden with desire.

“For all of eternity,” you mouth, fully exasperated, your lips coated with his essence, blushed and swollen. “You should have told me... you should have said...”

“Is this a problem, my queen?” He hums before kissing you once again, giving your lips little rest. You shake your head against him. You are desperate to fill that ache, to feel as close to him as your physical bodies could allow. Your souls separated by cages made flesh. And in answer, he plunges forward, filling you up to the hilt. Your pleasure erupts through you in a gasp, your back slamming against the cave wall with each deep thrust. You hold onto him desperately for support, relishing in the sleek feeling of his back, the thin layer of perspiration.

“I love you,” you breath into his neck and he responds, quickening his pace as he nears completion, as if driven by the words alone.

“I love you,” he responds in a grunt. “Gods, I love you.”

“Forever,” you add before you cum, your thighs locked around him as the waves crash through your core. And his warmth erupts inside of you in long, hot tendrils of release.

“Forever,” he answers in a moan before kissing you tenderly in a way that makes you sigh. He pulls away, long enough to lick away the rebel tears that cascade down your cheeks.

He doesn’t let you down, keeping you locked around his waist as he wades through the dark waters. He leaves your clothing lost and forgotten by the pool’s edge and pulls you into the warmth of the cabin. It comes alive with candlelight as you emerge inside. As if a wave of magic had swept over the expanse of the small living space the moment his feet touched the floor.

Placed on the table is a tray of chocolate covered strawberries, likely a foreign delicacy in Asgard and yet, there they are.

He sets you down on a cushioned lounge just in front of the fireplace. The fire within crackles and sparks. You sigh into it’s supplied warm, pulling a blanket up over your bare shoulders.

Loki is behind you, fussing with something in the small kitchen. He re-emerges beside you with two porcelain coffee mugs. It takes every effort not to erupt into side-splitting laughter.

“I’ve grown to like it,” he replies with a forced grin.

“Liar.”

You take a sip before you place the cup on the small table in front of you. And just beyond it, beyond the fireplace, there are large expansive windows overlooking an ocean that should not exist.

“This cabin, it reminds me...”

“Of our home, by the ocean?”

He smiles as he shuffles you into his lap, his arms wrapping around your blanketed shoulders.

“There is a lot of magic cast here. It can take the form of the place you most desire to be. It can summon the food you want to eat. It can play the music you wish to hear.”

As he speaks, soft violin music plays, like the night of the masquerade.

He reaches around you, dangling a strip of silk in front of your nose. And as your eyes focus, your gaze settles on a small golden charm.

“Would you like to wear it?” His voice is a lullaby, whispered against your ear.

“Where did you...”

“Thor,” Loki replies. “He hand delivered it to me when you were safely returned to Midgard. With ‘your regards’.” He chuckles softly. “I debated burning it, casting it into the sea. But I couldn’t bring myself to destroy it. Not when it held so much value to me. Not when it held your memory. Perhaps you cursed it and that’s why you haunted my dreams.”

“That was your own conscience willing you back to me,” you say with a small smile as you reach forward to take the token of ownership between your fingertips.

“I don’t want to be an object you can possess,” you tell him. “I want to be your partner. Above all else.”

You feel his chest raise and fall behind you as he takes a long, contemplative breath. So you turn to face him, the blanket falling off your shoulders.

“For Asgard, I will be your queen and consort,” you command. “Your right hand. Your confidant and friend. Your equal.”

His brows fold in consideration. “My... friend,” he repeats, as if the word were poison. You nod.

“But you shall own my body in the bedroom,” you add in a purr. “And I will be yours, truly. I will submit to all of your desires. As you will to mine.”

His lip curl into a smirk, and you sigh in relief, fearing you’d taken this request too far, too soon.

“Just the bedroom?” He asks mischievously.

“Or in the bath on your balcony,” you begin. “In the gardens, in the library, atop Thor’s throne...”

He growls, reaching down to bite your neck, making you whine before succumbing to the pleasure of his pain. “I’d love to see his righteous expression fade as I fuck you on his precious golden perch.”

You yank his hair, causing him to look up at you, away from your neck. He groans but soon smiles in earnest, knowing exactly what you are waiting for.

“You shall be my queen,” he says softly. “Always at my side. My equal.”

You hold out the collar for him to tie around your neck, and as he does, he plunges back into you, taking you on that couch by the fire. Until the wolves howl into the night and echo your screams of ecstasy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m working on a new short story, “A Righteous Disguise” so make sure to give that a read if you enjoyed this one :) one chapter left!


	55. V. Trust

There would be a feast, Loki told you. A feast to cut short your stay of Marital Seclusion, which traditionally should have lasted a month. But you’d savored every moment in that cabin, never once acknowledging the passing of time. You had spent your visit feasting on all forms of Midgardian delicacies you wanted Loki to try, to test out his reactions. French fries dipped in a chocolate milkshake were the first priority. He had reluctantly taken a bite and groaned, at first. But when you returned from the washroom, you found the meal devoured.

He had, in turn, served you his favorites from his Asgardian childhood, feeding you as you bathed. And when you were both full and content, you sat by the fireplace and talked until the golden sun rose over the crest of the horizon. Perhaps it was a faux sunrise that cast through those expansive windows. But neither of you cared about what was real or illusion. Once you’d rested, he made love to you in that the cool, rippling pool outside. Or fucked you on whatever surface he deemed suitable.

He planned to announce your bonding at that feast, in front of all of Asgard. He would declare you his Queen and present Freyr to his... _your_ people. You both missed your son terribly, his name coming up often during those long hours of evening conversation. And when he was caught in the throws of passion, he would beg to try for another, for a daughter, for another son, for a sizable family the likes of which Asgard had never seen before. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you had asked the healers for acacia tea to reduce the risk.

But you were returning to Freyr soon. Returning for him to be crowned a prince of Asgard, in line for the throne. The throne of Asgard if anything were to happen to Thor, or to Loki.

The thought made you want to hide in that cabin for the rest of eternity. Were you really prepared for this life of laurels?

When it’s time to leave, you dress and make your way back to the palace, soaking up the early morning sunlight as you stroll down the wooded path, hand in hand.

“What will I be expected to do?” You ask softly. A twig snaps beneath your foot.

“Before the feast, we will perform the rite for both you and Freyr. To honor you into the royal family,” Loki begins, helping you over a fallen stump. “And I will christen Freyr as Heir Apparent in the sacred waters before our people. With Thor’s blessing, as King of Asgard. I will say the words so there’s no need to fret. It’s very simple.”

You stare past him, toward the golden city just behind the hills ahead of you. You sigh as you finally reach a constructed, cobblestone path, marking the return to civilization.

“Why are you so nervous?” He asks with a small chuckle and a kiss against your ear. “Is it the introduction? Are you worried about what they may think of you? There’s no reason to be, my love. Everyone will adore you. I’ll punish anyone who doesn’t.”

“I’m not worried about the feast,” you reply, barely any louder than a whisper. “What will I be expected to do as your queen? What will Freyr will expected to do when he grows older?”

He stops in the middle of the path to turn and face you, clasping both of your hands. “Nothing is expected of either of you,” he says with a narrowed gaze. “Besides what I expect, nothing else matters. You have no duty to adhere to, no law. You are not taking a position that requires more from you than you are willing to give.”

“What do you expect?”

He scoops your chin and at last smiles. “For you to do what makes you happy,” he says softly. “And if a seat on the royal counsel makes you happy, you shall have it. Or if mere seclusion and seduction are what you desire, it will be yours.”

“A seat on the royal counsel...” you ponder.

“They help the king make every decision that effects Asgard and our relations with the other realms,” he explains. “I do think your advice may be a needed contrast against the ramblings of those old and bitter hags. They all just sit idly as Thor attempts to determine what it means to be a king... besides, a Midgardian advisor may be necessary now more than ever.”

His eyes darken as you near the city, his grip tight around your hand. And you feel that bond go taut as he tenses. Every emotion he feels has become your own. Each wave of unbridled emotions that courses between you is a reminder that your bond was more than physical. You were spiritual linked.

You lean into him, holding onto his arm.

“You and I will become Thor’s advisors,” you offer, gazing up at him thoughtfully. “We will plant thoughts into his head, small murmurs of ideas. At first, he may not appear influenced, but over time, every decision he makes, every order will be swayed by our hand. By our carefully crafted words of wisdom. And you and I shall rule in secret.”

His lips curve into a wide grin as he gazes down at you. “Already spinning mischief, my queen,” he hums in approval. “Shall we plan to overthrow him before or after I fuck you on his throne?”

You giggle against him, biting your lip. He releases your hand, his fingers sliding down to trace the trail of your spine before resting against the small of your back. You sense that tension ease, rippling away from you both like the pulling of the current back into the sea. The storm still raging against the horizon but the shore, calm and settled.

“Before, of course,” you murmur with a smirk. “But let’s give him a year at least.”

He smiles at you brightly as you walk toward the palace with a renewed sense of purpose.

The minute you arrive, you are pulled away from Loki by a barrage of handmaidens. He smiles at you, watching as you go. They bath and dress you in a gown of ivory that clings to every swooping curve, soft and supple. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought you were being prepared for your wedding day. But as they arrange your hair in soft curls and create a thin crown of braids around the base of your skull, you remember what it is you are here for. Not a wedding, but a coronation of sorts. You will be queen to a would-be king, whose crown his brother wore. But you smile as a handmaiden places a real crown atop your head. It isn’t as heavy as you expected. Interwoven vines make up the design, a delicate wiring of gold and emeralds. You truly look like a queen, though it would take time for you to feel like one.

But you had all eternity for that.

The gathering before the rite is grand, a mixture of the common people and the royal legion. They all gaze up at you, their reactions as myriad as the color of the skin. But you smile down at them all, a rainbow cast over your home, over your people.

_I will work to be worthy of your praise, and cast out your doubts. I promise, I will not fail you._

You are flanked by your new family as Loki speaks to the crowd in a language you do not know, holding your son in his arms. Thor is beside him, looking more regal than you’ve ever seen him before, in golds and reds. He does not wear a crown but he radiates with a gentle power. His gaze meets yours and his eyes fill you with a warmth that could rival the sun. You smile back at him before turning your attention back to Loki, as he anoints Freyr’s forehead with water, before handing him to Thor, who kisses his forehead softly. The crowd immediately applauses, welcoming their new prince. You sigh, releasing the fear that they may cast him out, that they may not accept that half-mortal child as their own. And yet they do, and your son melds into Thor’s embrace. As if he knows who he is. As if he knows he is safe.

Loki beckons for you to step forward as Thor moves back, leaving the two of you as the source of the crowd’s attentive gaze. Loki takes you by the hand and pulls you forward to face the gathering. This time, as he speaks, you understand every word.

“Today, we recognize a sacred bond,” he begins. “Performed between myself and this beautiful woman before you. In secret, on Midgard.”

The air suddenly feels too warm, as if you may faint from the smoldering heat that boils your cheeks. But you stand tall and greet the crowd before you. Their faces are still a mix of reactions. Shock perhaps, and confusion. But scattered amongst them are grins of delight you had not anticipated. That you feel you do not deserve.

“This bond, unites us for eternity. She is as much an Asgardian now as I am.” He smirks at you and you could smack him for the cruel remark, unbeknownst to the loyal onlookers. “From this day forward and for everyday for the rest of my life, I will belong to her and she will belong to you. To Asgard.”

“To Asgard!” The crowd roars in unison before erupting in applause, their bright smiling faces filling your heart to the brim with joy. You begin to cry.

“To Asgard!” They repeat, over and over, growing louder, until you turn to Loki. He is beaming, his face a thing of exuberant pride. He leans forward and captures your face between the palms of his hands before kissing you deeply. In front of all of Asgard. In front of your people.

He kisses away your tears softly before whispering against your cheek, “I told you they’d adore you.”

The subsequent feast is set up in a grand ballroom, with tables overflowing with food and drink, placed against each wall. All of Asgard is invited to celebrate with you, flooding out into the streets, filling the air with their merriment: drinking, dancing, eating to their hearts’ content.

Loki leads you into the ballroom but before he can run away, to converse with the aristocracy, you pull him onto the dance floor, despite his protesting.

“I think you owe me a proper dance,” you coo as he wraps his arms instinctively around you. You meld into the thick crowd of dancers, falling toward the center.

“Since you didn’t deserve a dance that night at the masquerade,” you add.

“I didn’t deserve a dance...,” he mutters, his lips curved into a small smile as he studies you. “What exactly do I deserve now, my queen?”

_Queen_. You are his queen.

“We shall see what you deserve after the night is over,” you reply with a smirk, paralleling his own.

You dance until you are drunk off his scent, seduced by his murmurs against your ear. You can feel every pulse, every wave of emotion flow through the two of you until you are both light headed and laughing from the thrill of it. The high of being bonded.

You stumble toward the alcohol, needing something to balance out the sensation, to give you both an excuse for acting so wired. He makes conversation with a servant pouring drinks as you stare off into the crowd.

A hand comes over your eyes from behind. And briefly, you think it’s Loki, but these hands are feminine and soft.

You spin around and Sofia is smiling from ear to ear.

“Sofia! What are you doing here?”

She pulls you into a tight embrace, the force practically crushing your ribs. But you don’t care, burying your face into her neck.

“Thor had the bifrost opened so we could come,” she explains. “I wouldn’t dream of missing this. This is practically your wedding day!”

“No it isn’t,” You laugh. “And what do you mean _we_?”

“You chose the villain. I chose the hero.”

She turns and behind her, approaching through the throng of people, is Steve. He looks out of place amongst the ornate Asgardians, dressed in a classical suit.

“You look beautiful,” he says sweetly, his lips curled into a kind smile as he reaches out for you. You quickly fall into his embrace, sighing as he encases you in his warmth.

“You are too nice to me,” you mutter, blushing.

“I mean it. Asgard suits you,” he whispers against your scalp. “And seeing you with him before... seeing how he looks at you...”

“He loves me,” you interrupt with a conviction that seems to come from someone else. As if it were Loki speaking through you. “Love can change a person for the better. But not always. Not if the other person isn’t willing to change.”

“That is very true...But, are you happy?”

“I am very happy,” you tell him, pulling away, out of his arms to look up at him.

“I know,” he says with a glimmer in his eye. “I can tell that you are where you are meant to be.”

He kisses your cheek softly before stepping away, joining Loki cautiously at the assortment of ales. Loki regards him coldly before handing him a stein.

Sofia immediately pulls you aside.

“God, finally I can get you alone,” she says in a harsh whisper. “I didn’t think he’d give me the opportunity to even talk to you tonight. I see what you mean about him being possessive.”

You smile, leaning against the wall. “I’m really glad to see you.”

She smiles back. “Me too, but listen, there’s something you need to know...”

“What did you see in those tests?”

She leans closer. “You aren’t human anymore,” she explains. “But you aren’t Asgardian either. Your DNA is just a scrambled mess of give and take. Honestly, I don’t even understand how you’re still alive with genetic makeup like that...”

“This is beyond science, Sofia.” You hold up your arm to the light, the slight shimmer caught against the lanterns overhead. “Being bonded to each other isn’t something that can be explained besides with what you’d consider imaginary.”

“I’ve seen men fly, sweetie. I’m willing to believe anything at this point.” She pats your cheek softly.

“How are things back home?”

She smiles and whispers, “I thought that wasn’t home for you anymore...”

”Earth will always be where I came from,” you reply. “Is Fury losing his mind?”

”He isn’t exactly pleased about how easily you and Loki escaped. There are murmurs of a recon mission.”

”I’d like to see them try...”

”Steve and I will send word if we hear anything alarming,” she says. “You know you always have at least three allies at S.H.I.E.L.D.”

”Three?”

“Tony and I had a long conversation after you left, over a bottle of wine,” she says with a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. “In time, we may be able to convince Natasha as well. Though, it’s unlikely.”

Her gaze lifts toward the edge of the room.

“Now, let’s go save my date before your man poisons his ale.”

“How exactly did that happen?” You ask, gesturing toward Steve as you take her arm to stroll toward where you’ve left the two men by the refreshments.

“I have a thing for being rescued,” she replies with a wink. “Steve and I have sort of been dancing around each other for years. My on again off again thing with Tony always got in the way. But now...”

She slides in next to Steve and steals the drink from his hand, sniffing it suspiciously. “Do I need to test this for arsenic?”

Loki scowls at her. “Do you really think me that weak that I’d use poison to remove my enemies?”

“Enemies?” Steve mouths at you with a smile. “I thought we were making progress past that.”

“I’m not a man of forgiveness,” Loki growls.

You slide in between them. “Okay, enough of the petty squabbles. Dance with me later, Steve?”

He smiles and nods. “Since you still owe me.”

You pull Loki away, before he can even attempt to stab Steve, his dagger already materialized in his hand.

“Again that man tries to steal what doesn’t belong to him,” Loki grumbles behind you, offering up the drink he’d originally retrieved for you. “He must be some kind of fool to have come here.”

“He is hardly a threat, Loki. And we need allies like him.”

His eyes widen but you take the drink from his hand, sipping it slowly. It tastes of jasmine.

“Just because Asgard is my home now, does not mean I have to completely abandon Midgard.”

“You’ll learn to let go of those shallow ties.”

“And if I don’t?”

He leans in, his lips hovering over yours. His breath seeping into your parted mouth. “I’ll make sure you forget all about that place. I’ll make sure the only world you’ll know will be my bed.”

“Perhaps I’ll escape and visit regardless,” you reply with a smirk.

“Then I will escort you there whenever you wish.”

“You’d let me break my promise? Even though S.H.I.E.L.D. would sooner see us dead than have us roam the streets of New York again?”

“Who said they’d ever have to know?”

He laughs at your wide eyed expression before he pulls you out into the night, past the crowds of people who bow as you pass. You shuffle past Thor and Sif, coddling Freyr, who eye you both suspiciously. Loki does little to ease their nerves, pulling you closer and kissing your neck as you step out into the midst of Asgard. Beyond, where there is only silence, at the edge of the world. Where the known and unknown collide against the horizon.

You stand at a railing, overlooking it all.

“This is your home now,” he whispers behind you, his arms wrapped around your shoulders. “Midgard will become a distant memory. Even Sakaar will fade into nothing.”

_Sakaar_. How you’d already begun to forget where it all began.

“When we first met, I thought that the will to escape was all that tied us together, what unified us,” You say softly. “I thought the connection I felt was mere survival instinct.”

You turn to face him, your back arched over the railing as you hold his face between the palms of your hands. His gaze is held to you, his emerald eyes flickering over each feature that makes you unique. His fingers trail up to your exposed back, to circle around the fading scar.

“I thought what I felt for you was an animalistic lust,” he replies. “That your allure was primal. That my hunger was driven only by my need to take you. To posses you. A mortal woman who wanted me. Who craved my affection so foolishly. Oh, how badly I wanted to punish you then, pet. You were so ripe for the taking.”

You press into him until his cool touch seeps into your flesh. His fingers cup your chin. You bite your lip, anticipating more of his caress.

“But I was blind to it,” he continues. “Ignoring that pull I felt tugging us together. I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to believe a mere mortal woman could be my soul mate.”

Your mouth falls open. Your hands begin to shake. But he smiles and kisses your forehead gently.

“But I watched you grow. I watched you transform on Sakaar, on Asgard. The judgment I had cast upon you, before truly knowing you, was beyond invalid. You proved to me that you were more than I could ever deserve. I can only hope I can be even half the man _you_ deserve.”

The moonlight streams in from the heavens, casting you both in its ethereal glow. Your hands, interlocked, radiate with the dazzling beauty of your bond, your promise made tangible. A tear drop falls upon his fingers.

He reaches up and lifts your chin so you are locked in his gaze. Held inside those brilliant emeralds is the promise of a future full of love and reckless abandon. You can not look away. You wouldn’t dare lose sight of it, if even for a moment.

“I thought you didn’t believe in such archaic concepts,” you stutter. Another tear falling, one that he quickly catches on the curve of his finger.

“Not until I met you.” He smirks and adds in a gentle whisper, “Don’t you trust me?”

“Absolutely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is such a bittersweet end for me. This story was such a joy to work on and was a means for me to get reinspired to write again. To my husband’s dismay (and amusement) I constantly had my phone out to write: while waiting in line for coffee, on the couch at night, in the early hours of the morning when I had to get ready for work but would much rather be writing. I was constantly finding inspiration, in my new marriage and through all of your encouragement and kind words. You all mean so much to me, truly. I am blessed to have had such lovely readers pushing me through. This story was for you as much as it was for me. So I am so happy to have been able to bring it to life for you.
> 
> As I stated before, I have some ideas for bonus content but that’ll likely be coming after my honeymoon so keep a look out :) I am currently working on a bit of mindless smut fun in “A Righteous Disguise” so go give that a gander in the meantime. Thank you again! 
> 
> Love,  
> Lilith


	56. B: My Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus Content: When a fantasy comes to fruition 
> 
> **Gratituous sex ahead **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this little number while waiting for our plane to board ;) Enjoy my lovelies.

You slowly make your way into the throne room early in the morning, rising with the sun. You’d had schemed up a ruse to get Thor out of palace for the morning, along with Lady Sif as an appropriate distraction. For your own selfish needs, as well as their own.

You sent a bottle of the cellar’s finest wine, aged for fifty years, and an assortment of chocolate covered strawberries, a gift from their newest Midgardian council member. Both sent to the cabin of Martial Seclusion which was apparently “infested by invading Vanirs in need of relocation.” A lie but a believable diversion.

You had your hopes set on the fact that they wouldn’t venture back to the palace for several hours.

You had threatened the guards on watch between an inch of their life to not venture inside the throne room as well, no matter how much screaming they heard from within. And to allow admittance to no one but your King, Loki.

You sit there, legs swung over the arms of the golden perch, the metal cool against your bare skin. You mindlessly adjust his half-helm atop your head, serving as your only piece of attire. You begin to get restless, your thighs sleek with building want, when finally the expansive doors swing open.

Loki grunts as he enters, his face held downcast onto the polished marble floor.

“What could you possibly want with me at this ungodly hour, brother?” He groans as he stalks forward. He is slightly disheveled, having dressed in a haste.

You can tell he is on edge, likely from having to wake up without you beside him. But you know the morning is when his desire is at its peak, his heat unbearable from a night of lust-filled dreaming. You’d woken up the past few weeks to his hands roaming your body, his fingers already pulsing in and out of your wet mound, preparing you for a breakfast of his release.

And now he is here, his arousal building, evident against his pant leg, with his queen ready and waiting.

“Hello, Loki,” you purr.

He lifts his head and his eyes go wide as his gaze flickers over your naked form. He halts before the throne, his lips curled into a mischievous smirk.

“Don’t you look ravishing,” he says, stepping nearer. He eyes his half-helm, gleaming against the streams of sunlight pouring in through the expansive windows behind you. “I was beginning to wonder where I put that...”

You shake your finger at him in disapproval as he steps up onto the platform, just below the throne. You swing forward and part your legs, each foot resting against either side of the throne. His face is level to your glistening slit, which you emphasize by spreading even wider between your fingers. He licks his lips in hungry anticipation.

“Kneel,” you order with a wide grin pulled up over your lips.

His eyes go wide but he smirks up at you in approval. “I beg your pardon...”

“Kneel. Before your queen,” you growl.

He quickly complies, falling to his knees just below you. He breathes you in, the aroma of your heat and sighs deeply.

“My queen,” he hums, bowing, kissing the heel of your foot rested in the palm of his hand.

“Have you come to pay tribute?”

He raises an eyebrow toward you. _Oh, kitten, you are so good today_ , he seems to say.

“Oh yes,” he vocalizes instead, continuing his trail of kisses up your leg.

“What have you brought for me, God of Mischief?” You rest your chin atop the curve of your finger, balanced against the arm of the metal throne. Waiting. Like a temperamental regent.

His eyes are rimmed with lust as he gazes up at you between your legs, his hands rested atop your parted knees. He sucks hard on the inside of your thigh until you moan happily above him.

“I’ve brought for you a silver-tongue, my Queen,” he answers before he puts that gift to use, licking up the length of your folds, gathering up your nectar. You throw your head back against the throne as you grab hold of the back of his head, pressing him further into your mound. He groans into you, greedily lapping up over your slit. Your fingers course through his dark mane as you grind your cunt against his face.

“Such a generous gift,” you moan as his tongue slides inside, before reemerging to circle your swollen clit. You suck on your finger, desperate to fill your mouth with him. Wanton moans escape your throat, matching the lewd sounds of your arousal. The push and pull of wetness between your legs.

“My Queen, you are so deliciously wet,” he groans over your lips, before sucking and pulling against them. “Sweet as wine... I’ll be drunk off of you before noon.”

“Drink up, my Liar God. Drink until you drown in me.”

He lets out a predatory roar, as he shoves a matching set of fingers inside of you, whilst pleasuring your clit with his pursed tongue. He knows how to send you reeling; how to make you come undone. And you do, hard, right into his mouth with a earth-shattering scream of his name.

You are relieved when the guards no not come running inside, as instructed.

“Did that satisfy your grace?” He grins up at you while licking his lips clean of your slick. His chin shimmering with wetness.

“Making your Queen cum upon her throne is quite unseemly, don’t you think?” You murmur, breathless. You heave in and out.

“Oh, but we aren’t finished,” he growls.

His hands flank your thighs, pushing you further apart as he lines up to your entrance. His pants dematerialize before you, leaving his cock bare and erect, posed at the ready. You arch forward until his tip kisses you softly. He runs his head up and down over you, painfully slow. Pushing just barely inside and then pulling out to slide over your clit once more. You let out a gentle moan, begging him for more. You need more. You need all of him.

“I could have you imprisoned for this sort of treason,” You say with a glare, reaching down between your legs to grip onto him, to guide him inside of you. “For torturing your queen.”

“My apologizes, your highness,” he mocks. “But I do love to see you squirm. To see you so desperate for cock.”

Before you can answer, he plunges fully into you. You reward him with a deep moan and a bite to his neck.

“What would Asgard think if they saw you like this?” He murmurs. “Their Queen, begging to be fucked.”

“Their Queen only wants your cock,” you answer with a lust filled gaze locked to his own. “But what do you want, Loki? What will satisfy you?”

“I want to fill my Queen with my cum,” he growls. “I want to see this tight cunt overflowing with my seed until it seeps out onto that golden perch of yours.”

He thrusts harder and you cling both to his shoulder and to the arm rest, to balance yourself.

“Give me your cum! I want it!” You scream.

“Patience, my queen.” He smirks down at you devilishly, silencing you with the tip of his finger, something you quickly take into your mouth to suck. Now that you are at his mercy, he plans to take his dear sweet time with you. Torturing your pussy with slow, methodical thrusts that just barely hit where you want him.

You arch your back and cry out for him.

“Please, Loki...”

“What was that? What did you call me?”

You growl and bite playfully on his finger.

“Not today,” you whisper before you force him around, pushing him down into the throne so that you can ride his cock. You adjust yourself, wrapping your legs tight around his waist.

“Today, there is no master. No slave. Today, I am your Queen and you will do as I say. As I want.”

“Feisty little minx...” he grabs a palmful of your ass, squeezing hard.

Your hand wraps around his throat. Your eyes gleam with unrelenting sexual power as you feel him throb inside of you in response.

“Not so high and mighty now, are you?” You purr, leaning forward to linger over his lips. He smirks up at you in response, letting you have this moment of control. Though, you know with him it won’t last for long. You grind into him the way you need until you feel yourself pulling closer to release.

“Filthy, self-righteous whore,” he mutters, smacking his hand hard against your ass. A cool finger slides into your second, neglected hole. You jerk forward in response, letting go of his neck with a guttural gasp. It gives him the gift of distraction long enough for him to force you down harder onto his cock as he fingers your asshole. You bob up and down, your head thrown back in ecstasy until his helmet falls onto the marble floor with a bounce.

“You will cum when I say you can cum,” he growls, spanking you again, harder. “Do you understand?”

You nod meekly. He couldn’t be tamed for long. He needed to own you, to be the one to call the shots. But you love it. You love him and the control he holds over you. So you relinquish the act and submit to his desires. Desires that match your own.

“Yes, my King,” you whimper. “I will cum when you say I can cum.”

He reaches down and runs circles over your clit.

“That’s a good girl,” he purrs happily. “Shall I reward you then, my Queen? Shall I give you what you want?”

“Please, please I want it,” you moan desperately.

“Only because you asked so nicely...”

And the fingers held to your nub pulse a magic into your sex that you only rarely felt, only when he was feeling particularly generous. Clearly you had done well with this little charade to please him. His magic coils in around your walls, clutching down against his cock. A cool warmth that makes your pleasure soar.

“Cum for me, my Queen,” he commands. “Cum.”

You obey, plummeting through the wall of release with another scream of his name and nails dug into his back. He empties himself inside you with a violent thrust, but quickly pulls out in time to coat your entrance in the remnants of his seed. He presses his cock up and down over your folds, rubbing it in. Until you are drenched in it, trickles of cum seeping out of your satiated hole. You moan happily above him, weak in his arms.

“How long have you been scheming for this day, my love?” He asks with a brilliant grin.

“Only the last few days,” you smile. “Had to get the usual suspects out of the palace as not to interrupt our very important meeting.”

“Yes, very important,” he smirks before kissing you deeply. He flips you around so you are rested back on the throne. He steps back to look at you, your legs spread wide and trembling as you ride the remaining waves of your climax.

“Mmm, that’s a sight I always want to wake up to,” he hums gazing down at the evidence of your love making. “You covered in my cum. Gods, I could take you again right now... “

Just his lustful gaze makes you long for him with renewed desire. Your fingers find your slit as you press his cum back inside, making him harder. He groans and lounges for you.

Just as the two expansive doors to the throne room push open infront of you.

Loki throws himself as a blockage before you, protectively, just as a expansive blanket materializes to cover your decency. Though, he doesn’t bother to so much as hide his still hard erection, turning around to face the intruders.

“You better have a good reason for... why are you naked?” Thor shouts as he enters, his gaze darting between his brother’s legs before quickly diverting away. The Warriors Three and Lady Sif are not far behind, equally appalled. “Why is she on the throne... why are... oh for fuck sake!”

In that moment, his face is a priceless artifact you want to capture in a bottle. To keep forever. He is so stunned, so flabbergasted at the sight of you both, post-coitus, on his regal throne. He is seething with rage and outright embarrassment.

You peer around Loki, as you wrap yourself in the too large blanket, dragging at your feet. “Good morning,” you say with a wave, giggling helplessly with nerves.

“I need to put locks on everything!” Thor roars, extending his hand to block his view. “This is the second time in the last month...Can you please put some clothes on?”

“Jealous, brother?” Loki asks with a smirk, hands pridefully held to his hips.

“Is this heat ever suppose to calm down?” Fandral asks behind his King, a giddy look on his face. But he too has his eyes averted. “I’ve never actually witnessed a bonding before... I didn’t realize they’d be fucking like animals in every corner of the kingdom...”

“Bonding shouldn’t affect moral decency,” Thor growls. “I want you out of here in five minutes! And I want that cleaned!”

He stalks away, grumbling curses and coursing his fingers forcefully through his golden hair. You swear you hear him laughing after he has made it halfway down the hall, his voice echoing.

Lady Sif bows, her face as red as a brilliant ruby before she follows after him with Volstagg and Hogun at her side. Only Fandral lingers.

“You’re sure you... don’t want to try what I suggested?” He asks, staring at Loki, his eyes slowly shifting toward you in a way that makes you blush.

“Out!” Loki screams, his voice booming against the glass until it plummets into Fandral, who runs swiftly from the room without another word.

“Deviant bastard...” Loki mumbles as he turns to look at you. “Shall we get you cleaned up, love?”

You look at him with a wide gaze. “What exactly did he suggest?”

Loki sighs before scooping you up into his arms, cradling you like a child in swaddling cloth.

“Something he is going to wish he never even thought about... once I’m done with him,” he growls into your neck.

You reach up to caress his chin. “How shall we punish him?”

He chuckles against you. “However my Queen sees fit.”

“Well, I will need to know the crime if I am to cast fair judgment.”

He groans. “I can never deny you...” he admits with a small smile. “He wants to share you. To join us in bed. That man is like a dog, sniffing out any bitch in heat...”

“Excuse me... any bitch in heat?”

Loki rolls his eyes with a soft chuckle. “Bonding is putting us both in a state of constant arousal. I’m sure the strength of our bonded pheromones aren't putting our company at ease. The effects will wear off... eventually.”

Your pheromones... that would explain how oddly everyone had been regarding you these past few months. You both radiated with sexual desire. And clearly it was affecting those around you. The sexual tension between Sif and Thor had been making you irritable at all hours of the day. Just seeing them, how they looked at each other, made you want to run the other way.

“They just need to fuck already and be done with it,” Loki had whispered to you during a particularly awkward dinner.

Effects of your own bonding, you now realized. You almost feel guilty for causing them so much duress. You had both thought this would eventually plateau, that the boiling heat you felt in your loins would soon return to a state of normalcy. Or what could be considered normal for the two of you. But it had been months, an unusual length of time, according to Loki, who seemed to consider himself a subject matter expert now that you were bonded successfully.

The first in a thousand years.

So if you weren’t able to calm down, neither would Fandral...So you would need to deter him, rather effectively.

“Perhaps we can show him exactly how we ... share,” you purr with a devilish smirk.

He laughs as he walks you through the double doors.

“I so love how you weave mayhem now, even without my guidance.”

“It’s out of love for you, my King.”

You can feel the curve of his lips against your neck as he smiles happily and sighs before kissing you softly on the top of your head in silent approval.

“What shall we do now, my Queen?”

You stare off into the distance, toward all of Asgard, still waiting to be touched by your hand.

“Lets go create more chaos.”

 


	57. B. Sleeping Desires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus Content: A lost telling of Loki and Reader’s first night in Sakaar. Chronologically takes place between the first chapter (and after the recount of “Beginnings”).
> 
> NOTE: The narrative is split between the Reader’s and Loki’s POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it my friends! I am going to officially mark this story as complete :) but don’t fret, I may come back to revisit this tale in this future. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy and as always, thanks for reading!

 

\- **_Reader’s POV_** -

“Are you a fighter or are you food?” The welcome committee asks, rather impatiently as they descend upon you.

You stumble to your feet, held in the grasp of your reluctant companion. His hand clasps around your wrist as he pulls you behind his body, to stand between you and the foreign aggressors. You gladly fall into his shadow.

“Neither,” Loki replies with a wide grin. “We are merely visitors.”

“There are no visitors on Sakaar,” one of them groans. “Fighter or food? We won’t ask you again.”

“They look like food to me,” one of them growls behind a plaster mask, painted crudely with red and yellow stripes. One cut out hole serves as the mouth piece through which long tentacles emerge as it speaks.

“There will be quite a hefty bounty on your heads if you deem us food,” Loki glares. “You do not know who you are dealing with. And I advise you take us...”

“Who exactly are you, talking food?” another one asks. The crowd inches closer, threatening to jab your ribs with their weapons of choice: makeshift shanks and sizzling spears.

“I am Loki, King of Asgard,” Loki announces. “And I demand an audience with your ruler.”

You stare up at him, his grip loosening from your wrist. You back away, enough to be clear of him by a few feet.

_You are no King, you monster._

Your gaze shifts and you see the broken wreckage of a crashed ship, or what appears to be a ship. There’s no telling whether it would even fly, or if you could manage to pilot it. But you had to try. You had to try to get home.

_Home. I want to go home._

“You don’t look much like a King,” one of them mutters. He watches as you attempt to flee. Something flickers in his hand before he tosses the object toward you. It expands into an encompassing net that traps you, fumbling, to the dirt. A shockwave of electricity follows, stunting you. You scream out in agony, crippled amongst the dirt and grime.

Loki’s daggers are out and held to the neck of your assailant before you can manage to blink, to rid your eyes of the stinging tears that blur your vision.

“You have no right,” he growls as the tip of the blade draws a trickle of blue-hued blood. “You have no right to touch her.”

The strange man only laughs in response.

“Is she yours?” he asks with a mad grin. “The Grandmaster is in need of new pleasure slaves. The current stock is rather used up. Old, worn. Disgusting whores.”

He turns his gaze upon you, adding, “How much?”

Your eyes widen at the suggestion. You twist and turn beneath the netting but it only tightens around you. A whimper escapes your lips.

“Oh, that scream must sound just as sweet with a cock inside of her.”

Loki pushes the dagger in deeper. “She isn’t for sale.”

“Everything has its price. I’ll give you a thousand units for a night with her. Two if you join her.”

“She isn’t for sale!” Loki growls before the dagger slices through the man’s throat, opening up a flood of the strange blue liquid. It spurts right into Loki’s face before pouring down to mix in with the dirt. To create a purple mud at his feet. He tosses his useless body to the ground in annoyance.

Another man charges toward him, and then another. But each of them meets with the same fate as the first assailant.

“Anyone else?” Loki asks impatiently as he cleans his blade against his pant leg once he has finished them off.

The netting collapses immediately and you gasp as the pain subsides. You lie there, stunned by his aggression, by the pure rage that had ended the lives of those three men.

“You will take me to meet this Grandmaster,” Loki demands. “Or I won’t be so merciless to the rest of you.”

The smart ones take you toward the center of the city, toward the place they called Sakaar, in a crude aircraft. You fly over large buildings, constructed from the discarded trash that has compiled on top of this planet over the years. Loki leans close to you, enough so that his lips graze your ear. A shiver runs down your spine at the off-cue intimate touch. You make to push him away when he grabs your wrists and pulls you closer still.

“I need you to play along,” he whispers harshly. “No matter what happens, we have to maintain appearances.”

“And what are these... appearances, my King?” You ask in a mocking tone. A sharp bite on your tongue.

“Catching on quickly,” he growls in approval. “Just follow my lead, and I will bring you safely home.”

Home to Earth or Home to Asgard, you wonder.

As soon as they bring you into the city, through the gates and into the Grandmaster’s home, Loki is escorted away. He insists, rather adamantly, that you should not be separated. But they can’t be bothered to listen, dragging you away, down a darkened corridor in the opposite direction.

As you struggle against their grasp, he catches your eye briefly. You are shocked to find a sort of panic in his gaze as they lead him away, out of your sight. Panic for having lost the advantage, you assume.

The so-called servants take you to be bathed, drowning you in highly perfumed oils. They braid your hair and smear rouge on your cheeks before dressing you. Though the attire hardly helps your sense of modesty. You try to cover your breasts, barely concealed beneath the plunging neckline. The skirt is short, brushing your thighs with its sheer material as you move.

And no undergarments are provided, to your dismay. You clinch your thighs together, walking awkwardly.

“Where is my companion?” You ask a maid as she fusses with your hair, having already fallen out of the loose braid due to your protests during the initial plaiting.

“Companion?” She asks with the tilt of her head. “I didn’t realize there was another female with you.”

“No, I mean the man, Loki,” you clarify.

Her eyes narrow. “You must always refer to him as your master,” she states. “Otherwise he will beat you for disrespecting him.”

“Master?” You choke. The blush rises over your cheeks. The minute it leaves your lips you know with regrettably honesty that the title has somehow aroused you. But you aren’t given the opportunity to question her further, before they take you away. They bring you to a large guest room, with expansive windows overlooking the city below. They leave you alone with a bow, to the silence and solitude of the room.

At first, you wait, expecting Loki’s arrival almost immediately. But when hours pass, and the strange sky fades into nightfall, you decide to settle in against the plush bedding provided to let overdue sleep come to claim you.

The visions that follow are made from the fabric of desperate desires, of self-destructive pleasures that should only live in the land of dreaming. Triggered by a single word.

 _Master_.

* * *

 

\- **_Loki’s POV_** -

After hours in the company of local Sakaarians, he finds, to his displeasure, that he is quite drunk. They dragged him around the artificial city, where the libations were abundant and the music played until the streams of daylight were but a distant memory. He had gained their favor, whether through the careful crafting of his silver-tongue or by mere primal appeal. Either way, his new friends had gifted him an audience with the Grandmaster, the leader of Sakaar, by the end of the week. At the soonest. Though he suspects it may take longer than that. Apparently, this Grandmaster is a very busy man.

Loki stumbles down the corridor, pulled forward by the encouragement of stray servants lining the hall. They instruct him that his guest quarters have been set up just beyond the bend of the hallway. They giggle as he fumbles against the wall, barely managing to maintain his balance.

_Mewling quims, mocking me in my weakened state._

He chugs the last remnants of his cocktail. It would be a shame to let it go to waste, he decides. He throws the empty glass, letting it bounce, unbroken against the ground.

He clutches onto the doorframe as the doors slide open upon his approach.

 _Good, I’ve found it_.

He slinks inside and sees you, lying atop the bed with your legs curved in toward your chest. Your skirt has shifted up toward your hips and your rear, pointed in his direction, is bare.

_And I’ve found you, little mortal. They’ve dressed you quite... nicely._

He walks toward the bed, fumbling still. As he nears you, he sees with startling realization that your sex is glistening with want. A shimmering pearl rests between your lips before trickling down between your legs. He licks his lips, involuntarily.

You shift and moan, but your eyes remain closed.

“What are you dreaming about, I wonder...”

He reaches forward and caresses your forehead, sliding in, undetected, into your unconscious mind.

When he emerges inside of your dream, he expects to find the typical visions of a young mortal woman. A field of flowers, imaginary bunny rabbits and kittens. Something superficial and bland. But what he finds instead, how he finds _you_... makes his cock throb with want. He rubs himself awkwardly, willing his arousal to cease as he stares at you. It has been far too long since he has had a good lay, beside the humdrum fucks he’d been subjected to as of late, purely out of necessity. To subdue the pain of needed release.

But seeing you, he is weak to his desires. The desire to take a woman and show her his world. To fuck her the way he needs. And seeing you, it’s clear that he may have found his match, even if you don’t realize it yer. Only in your sleep have you let your mind wander into the unexplored regions of the true nature of your desire. And Loki decides that in this moment he is obligated to indulge you, in your dreams where the consequences are as thin as vapor.

Your wrists are chained to a wall above your head. You kneel, your legs parted toward him. And you are completely bare and wanton. His eyes gaze down at your tight cunt, at your rosy lips begging to be licked.

He realizes after a moment in the still, dissolute dungeon that his presence has cast out the phantoms of your dream. And he stands, serving as the conductor, the author to your fantasies. He chuckles softly, smirking with awaited mischief.

_You’re mine now._

He says your name softly but your head remains downcast. So, he says it again before he reaches forward. He grabs a hold of your face and yanks your chin upward, until you meet his gaze. Your eyes go wide with fear when, finally, you see him. Truly see who it is you’d be facing in tonight’s fantasy.

“Loki?” You ask meekly before your gaze drifts down upon yourself, and your state of dress. A deep crimson spreads over your chest, creeping up to cover your cheeks.

“Please don’t look at me,” you plead, turning away. Your knees lock together in reaction. But he continues to grip onto your chin, forcing you to hold his gaze.

“Why not?” He purrs. “Why shouldn’t I look at you like this?”

“I don’t understand why you...” you shake your head. “I shouldn’t want you... I shouldn’t...”

“You shouldn’t be aroused by someone like me?” He snaps. “By a monster?”

His wraps his hand around your throat and squeezes until you are struggling to breathe. When finally, you look up at him with sheer desperation, and he loosens his grasp.

“You’ve hardly seen what I am capable of. Shall I show you?” His hand releases and his gaze drifts back down to your legs, sealed together to hide your beautiful, sopping pussy. To hide how much you want him.

“Please don’t look at me!” You repeat, clinching your eyes tightly shut.

“I will look at every sinful part of your body,” he growls in response. “I will touch every inch I so desire.” He pauses, letting his fingertips caress the curve of your breast, over your erect nipple. You whimper and arch beneath him.

“And I will kiss you wherever I wish to.”

And he does, pulling your lips to meet his. He kisses you deeply, savoring even this version of your taste, the taste of dreams. He laughs as he feels your tongue slip into his mouth. He pulls away, letting his lips roam down to your neck.

“Eager, aren’t we?” He smirks against your flesh. “Have you wanted to do that? To kiss a God?”

You shake your head violently. “I didn’t... I don’t...”

“But you taste so sweet, like you’re just begging for it,” he hums, licking his lips. “I bet your pussy is even sweeter. Shall I have a taste?”

“No! Please!”

“You’re dreaming, sweet girl,” he says with a sigh. “There is no need for false pretenses.” He tilts his head as he examines you. “Or are you aroused by this? Of being taken by force?”

You gaze up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

“I want the truth, little one,” he commands, fingertips held below your chin. “Let me see what you truly desire and I promise I’ll protect you. I promise no one will hurt you here. And I’ll make sure you return to Midgard safely.”

“How can I believe you?” You ask meekly. “Aren’t you the God of Lies?”

“Let me show you what kind of God I am...”

He falls between your legs, forcing them back apart. His fingers trail up your slit, coating his tips in your gathered wetness and pulling a moan from your lips. You tremble beneath him, struggling against your metal restraints.

“Please stop,” you beg despite how you arch your hips into his hand.

“Do you really want me to?” He asks, leaning into you. His lips gently press against your forehead. “Tell me no again and I will do as you command.”

You tilt your head up to look at him. “I’m surprised you are even considering my wants,” you whisper.

“I don’t have to,” he replies with a snarl. “But when a woman is given what she desires, fucking her is so much more enjoyable. As much as I want to force my cock into that pretty mouth of yours right now to shut you up...”

“Maybe that’s what I want...” your eyes darken beneath the hoods of your eyelids. Dark with forbidden lust as you slowly lick the insides of your lips. “Maybe I don’t want you to be gentle.” Your blush deepens to a rich crimson as you admit your desires.

“Careful, little girl,” he says with a mischievous smirk. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

“Show me.”

“Beg your pardon...”

“Show me who I am dealing with.” Your legs part in front of him slowly, your knees trembling, and once again his eyes lock onto your pooling wetness. “Master.”

A predatory growl escapes from deep inside his throat as he slides down to rest his head between your parted legs. His hands grip tightly to your thighs to keep you spread wide for him.

“I’ll open your mind to a whole new horizon, if you let me,” he hums before he kisses your inner thigh, sucking hard on your flesh until he is rewarded with a wanton moan from your lips. You struggle against the restraints on the wall and he smirks up at you, watching you squirm.

“Don’t like to be held back, do you?” He laughs, the force of his voice sending vibrations down into your entrance. You moan softly and arch against him. “Tell me, what would you do if those hands were free to do as you wished?”

“I... I don’t know...”

“Come now...I think you do.” His fingers trace long, painfully slow trails up your thighs, up to your throbbing core. Begging to be touched, you thrust your hips against his hand, making him chuckle in delight.

“Would you use those pretty hands to touch yourself?”

He blows against your lips until you groan and whimper his name.

“Would you shove your fingers inside your tight cunt... or would you prefer if I did that for you?”

Your eyes go inpossibly wide as you gaze down at him, at the sight of his lips hovered over your pussy, leaking with want. And your answer is clearly plastered over your face, in the way you bite your lip and nod, subtly.

But before he can comply and give you everything you desire, he is pulled forcefully from your mind as you stir back into consciousness. He shifts onto the edge of the bed, awkwardly adjusting himself as he mutters a curse under his breath. He realizes, regrettably, how hard your dream has made him. Painfully hard, desperate for release.

_How I’d kill to cum inside that mouth of yours and watch you take every last drop like good girl..._

“Loki?”

“What?” He snaps as he turns to look at you. You’ve already readjusted your dress, covering yourself as best you can beneath the bedsheets. But you can not conceal your hardened nipples, pressing against the fabric of your dress, and the the growing blush that spreads up over your chest.

“I didn’t... I didn’t think you’d come here,” you mutter. “I thought maybe I wouldn’t see you again.”

“I’m sure you would have loved that, wouldn’t you?” He snarls, turning away to gaze out the window, breathing heavily to subdue his arousal. 

“No,” you say softly, shifting closer to him. “You and I are stuck here together. And like it or not I... I want to be a team.”

“A team?” He tilts his head to the side to stare back at you. His lips immediately curl up into a grin as laughter escapes his mouth in an unrelenting roar. “You are a strange creature.”

“And you are a cruel bastard,” you snap, yet your lips betray you, smiling ever so slightly.

“Go back to sleep,” he says softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You lie back down and continue to gaze up at him. Your expression torn between soothed anxiety and lingering desire.

“You promise?” You whisper.

“I promise.”

“I’m not sure I can trust you, Liar God,” you reply sleepily before yawning deeply.

He reaches for you and you jerk back in reaction. However, he continues, pulling the bedsheets up over your chest to tuck you in.

“You can trust me,” he reassures. “What do you have to lose?”

“Everything,” You murmur softly before your eyelids flicker closed.

He leans back and watches as your chest raises and falls, signaling your return to the land of dreams. But this time, he decides to leave you the peace of privacy.

“Goodnight, pet,” he whispers before standing up off the bed and curling up on a nearby couch, watching over you as you sleep.


	58. AU: The Lies that Bind Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU Timeline: In which one of Loki’s many lies is revealed, and he must be punished. However, our heroine will do whatever she can to comfort her tortured King. 
> 
> Written in third person from Loki’s POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sure most of you were not expecting an update to this story! I was too tempted to write a tale involving the concept of Loki’s lips being sewn shut, as inspired by mythology. And I couldn’t say no to a chance at revisiting this tale once more (And I’m such a glutton for Jotun Loki it should be a sin). 
> 
> Also, as a side note, I finally watched Skull Island for the first time tonight. I didn’t think Tom could get any sexier. Lord help us. My poor husband’s face every time I find a movie starring Mr. Hiddleston. The poor thing...

The Grandmaster was not a man of forgiveness. But he was a man of punishment. And oh, did the God of Mischief deserve punishment. For this and for a multitude of sins yet to be uncovered. But those could wait for another time. This sin, however, would receive just and timely penance. Ninety days of it to be exact. As a God, he knew he could endure the near starvation and sensory deprivation that came with the lengthy sentence. By the end of it, he knew he’d be a quarter of the man he once was, as frail as a pile of twigs. But he didn’t care. He would recover in time. It is the silence that will truly send him spiraling into the despair of madness. The inability to communicate, to speak his mind to any other living soul. Pure, unadulterated isolation with only his own swirling thoughts to keep him company, as they had for the first fifteen days of isolation. He replayed his own incriminating words over and over again until they became a funeral choir. 

_I am a King. King of Asgard._

It had been a small lie in the grand scheme of things. He had told far worse lies in his centuries of existence, and done far worse things to be exact. This one, innocent little lie had not been enough to cause any harm to the Grandmaster or his carefully constructed kingdom. No, nothing of the sort. But it was a lie nonetheless, and deceit, above all else, could not be tolerated on Sakaar.

He remains motionless in the cell, knees slightly bent beneath him as he dangles from chains restraining his arms above his head. He is no stranger to containment but this...this is new. His eyes strain against the dim light, hot with tears he fought to yield, tired and empty. He hasn’t slept in two days, but if he had, he is sure no good would come of it. Demons in the form of nightmares would surely come to claim the remaining dregs of his sanity. He swallows hard, gagging on the metallic taste that laced his tongue. But as parched as he is, he won’t be unable to find relief anytime soon. His lips are chapped and caked with blood that clings to each small inseam. Stitches hold his mouth shut, like finely crafted embroidery. Like the lace of a maiden’s garments, delicate but binding.

He dares not move his mouth. Any slight gesture would tear the skin open, ushering forth a new, fresh stream of blood. A truth he discovered in the first few hours of his forced silence when he dared to resist. Since that moment of disobedience, his blood has continued to drip down his chin, staining his bare chest. The crimson liquid pools against his skin, settling around the raised strikes of his alien flesh like a macabre apron. The red a painted contrast to the unnatural blue hue of his skin no longer hidden under the force of a lifetime of surrender.

Small morsels of blood bead into his mouth through minuscule gaps in the weaver’s craftsmanship. Like drops of hot venom, searing his dry tongue. The thread in place is a brilliant silver that glistens against the light of a lantern descending the stairs to the dungeons.

“Loki?”

He slowly lifts his gaze to meet his guest, his only visitor since he came to be imprisoned. _There shouldn’t be anyone down here. No one should be able to see me._ That had been part of the deal. Utter isolation. But his eyes widen as he sees her bounce off the bottom step. Her face is cast in an amber glow against the flames held, swaying in her grasp. Her eyes are bloodshot and weary, as if from her own lack of proper slumber. She shivers from the cold, pulling her coat tightly around her small body. From a chill that pours out of his own body in waves throughout the damp, dark space. In his weakened state, his guise has fallen. No more mask. No more secrets. 

“Loki?” She asks again, standing on the other side of the barred metal door. Her eyes dance over his hanging form, holding momentarily over the curve of his horns, breaking free from the crown of his skull and curling back around his head. The crown for a demonic King. He can not speak but regards her with the slight tilt of his head as if to ask “Why are you here?” before closing his eyes tightly shut. He is afraid to meet her gaze any longer than necessary. Afraid that acknowledging this moment for what it truly is will finally break him. _She has seen the monster._ But the sound of the metal gate opening, rusty from neglect, reverts his eyes back open slowly. She stands in the doorway. A set of stolen keys in her hand falls to the dusty door. She sets the lantern down to join them before cautiously coming towards him. 

“What... What did they do to you?” She asks softly, her lips trembling. Her eyes are wide like a fearful doe approaching the den of a wolf. _They didn’t do this, little one_ , he wants to tell her, convinced she must be referring to this strange appearance she’s never witnessed. When she is close enough, however, she reaches her small hands up to him timidly. He jerks away instinctively. “Don’t touch me,” his fiery eyes scream at her, like two solid daggers penetrating her own quivering gaze. _Phantom. Ghost. Leave me_. Her willingness to embrace him as he is now, as the monster, convinces him that finally, after all these days of starvation, he has succumb to hallucinations. And here, standing before him is a figment of his guilt. His beautiful, tempting guilt. Not the woman he so yearned to embrace but an illusion. If his lie had resulted in this cruel punishment, surely they’ve already taken his “pet” and sold her to the highest bidder. Surely now she is being bent over and fucked mercilessly by some monstrous man who’d won her. A beast far worse than he could ever be, who doesn’t know her, who doesn’t care to. And surely, she is crying out for him. Screaming into the stillness of the night. But here, chained and bound, he is unable to stop it. Unable to save her. 

He grunts and jerks away from her hand, grinding his teeth together. Death, he notes, is taking far too long to deliver him from this misery. Death is a blessing reserved for the worthy. Just as Valhalla would never offer him the rest he so sorely desired, as broken as he is. And this, the gentle caress of a woman who could not possibly be real, is far more than he deserves. But she refuses to retreat. Her hand rests gently against his cheek, sleek with perspiration. He winces but he can not move any further away, restricted by his chains. 

“Is this who you truly are?” she asks in a whisper, eyes dazzling and fleeting between each of his stained crimson ores. She studies him for a moment, stroking the skin just beside those demonic eyes. Her hand moves up, timidly tracing a line along his horn. So blissfully unaware of the shiver that her caress draws up his spine. An unlikely erogenous zone. “Is this what you hide from the world?”

He closes his eyes, unable to withstand her judgment. And yet, she continues. “I should have fought for you. Explained things to him... maybe than I could have stopped this.” 

He blinks at her, watching as a tear runs down her soft cheek. A part of his soul wants nothing more then to brush it away, sweeping his thumb across her skin, or soothing her with the soft caress of his lips beneath her eye. To take away her sorrow. But she isn’t real, he reminds himself. She couldn’t be. He can only shake his head as he stares down at her. What could she have done? His fate had been predefined in the stars long before their names were given the breath of life. No good would ever come to the wayward Prince. The devil incarnate. Ice and blood would mark his path through life. Tears the ink upon the scroll. But for all that it was worth, for all he knew of his destiny, here on Sakaar, for once, he’d been something else. Someone else. He’d been a king, regarded with respect and reverence. King of Asgard. That was what he always wanted...  wasn’t it? On Sakaar, he’d become a damned fool the way he’d begun to grin. The way he glowed. And he had thought that all of it had been because of his new status, his anonymity. His new life. But perhaps, he wondered, if part of that strange state of bliss had been because of this fragile creature who now stood as a vision before him. How he’d found comfort in the arms of this beautiful maiden who’d given herself to him. To him alone. It was the closest he’d even come to that allusive feeling of happiness. 

But that delusion was shattered the moment his oaf of a brother stumbled into this world and chose to lift the thin veil of his bliss. He revealed the horrid truth to his slave master and keeper on this trash planet. That he was no King. But a fugitive. He was nothing. Better left for dead. And his fate had been sealed, along with his blasphemous lips. 

He shifts uncomfortably against his chains. The metal digs into his wrists, worn raw from the friction of initial resistance. A smooth caress makes him wince as her fingers glide across that blistered patch of skin, a cool kiss against the pain he has so long endured. Her other thumb glides carefully across the stitching that has sealed his lips shut, leaving a streak of crimson against her pale skin in its wake. 

“Do you want me to try to ... get this off of you?” She murmurs, hesitant. Her hands tremble against him before more tears join the first, solo pioneer in hot streams down her ghostly cheeks. “I don’t know how... Loki, I don’t know how to help you.” She sobs softly, a sound that tears open a new seam within his frozen heart.

Again, he shakes his head at her. He can’t stand to see her cry, even if it’s just an illusion. Someone so beautiful, so pure, shouldn’t have to suffer so unjustly. Especially because of him. He is the reason she became stranded on this strange planet to begin with, so far from her home. Why she’d given up everything under the guise of survival. Her innocence, her pride, her purity. For him. Everything was for him. And now, she is likely dead, brutalized by the same men that he’d protected her from for so long. He swears he can hear the echoes of her screaming from above. Crying. Dying. For him. Always for him. 

He leans into her touch, pressing his cheek into the curve of her hand. Hot tears are released beneath his lashes, stinging his dry eyes and dancing down to meet the tips of her fingers, resting against his hallow cheeks. He pleads with her in silence. “Please don’t,” he tries to reach her. “Please don’t.” Don’t what, he wonders. Don’t leave? Don’t cry? _Don’t be dead. Please_. But she merely responds by pressing her rose tinted lips to his other cheek, just at the corner of his scarred lips. She must taste the sharp bitterness of his blood. But if she does, she shows no sign of disgust, flicking the small peak of her tongue across the part of his mouth left unharmed. He groans and feels his body automatically respond to her touch as it has become so conditioned to do. So fueled by lust and desire that all other drives, such as reason and logic, have been driven to darkness, to mute dissonance. He needs her, more than he needs the air in his lungs, stale and useless now. He stiffens, turning from her with the jerk of his head. She pulls her mouth away, licking her lips. Her gaze falls between his legs where she can see the outline of his hardened sex, pressing impatiently against his leather leggings. A betrayal of his due mourning. 

“Loki,” she moans, hands gliding down that path of red smeared down the core of his chest. “Loki...”

_Please leave me. Please don’t. Please_. He arches his back, thrusting against his cuffs, as if to push her away with the force of his stature alone. But she is resilient. Her hands fall against the fastenings of his trousers, letting them come undone beneath her fingertips. She slides down his body, littering his skin with gentle kisses, until finally, she is on her knees before him. Subjugation. Subservience. Everything he’d conditioned her to be. Everything he thought he needed. 

“I want... to take some of your pain away,” she whispers, gazing up at him. Her pupils are blown dark with lust but shimmering with residual tears. “I want to try, at least. Won’t you let me try?”

Unable to protest her actions, he watches her proceed. She slips her hand underneath the tight fabric of his pants and springs free his erect cock. He bobs in the empty space in front of her parted lips with a stifled groan. She leans in toward the tip, red and angry, glistening with a sheen of his building arousal. It is just begging to be licked clean. But she waits, looking at him for approve. He blinks and gives her a subtle nod, succumbing to his primal needs. His need to fill her throat, to feel that pretty mouth of hers gliding up and down his shaft. 

_Fuck_. He lets out another groan that is again muffled behind his sealed lips as her mouth slides over his cock. _Forgive me, please forgive me_. He thrusts his hips toward her face, encouraging her to take more of him into her hot mouth, a wonderful contrast to the chill of his Jotun sex. She eagerly complies, moaning against him as she relaxes her jaw, taking him in as far as he can go. Her own groans vibrate against his length, encouraging his arousal even further. He tilts his head back to rest against the stone and forms his hands into tight fists above his head. Fists he wished were gripped tight to her skull. She pulls back, wrapping her tiny hand around him, whilst flicking her tongue across the tip. She is too good. Too perfect. Too much like the real thing. He’d curse if he had the ability to speak. It’s been far too long since he found relief. And feeling her like this is too much for him to stand. Too good to hold back. And as she licks the length of his shaft, he plummets into ruin. He has no way to warn her, to tell her of his impending release. Only a muffled moan and the way he thrusts hard against her, eyes tightly shut. Suddenly, he shoots his load into her awaiting mouth, across her little tongue. She gasps in surprise but grins up at him as she takes the gift of his release like a good little whore. She hums before swallowing it all down in a single gulp. With a sigh, she slowly raises back onto her feet, gliding her hands up his parted thighs as she does. 

“I want you,” she murmurs. “Can I have you... please?” She is begging, though she has no reason to. He always wants her. Always needs her. He has become weak to her every desire. _What have you made me? Phantom. Ghost._ He nods, pleading with his eyes. _Yes, Norns, yes. Let me have you. I am yours._

She slowly slips off her coat, wrapped so securely around her body that he couldn’t see the brilliance of her firm beneath it before now. With trembling hands, she guides the loose straps of her dress off her shoulders, but she hesitates before moving any further.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters. “Don’t... don’t look.”

His eyes widen, in fear and anguish. With startlingly clarity, he realizes this being before him is not the illusion he imagined her to be. But a true, real, tangible woman. His. And as his eyes drift down to caress the bare expanse of her now exposed skin, he sees the mark of that ownership branded into her skin. The mark is a deep maroon, blistered and burnt, and placed just above her heart. His emblem; her punishment. 

A deep growl vibrates up his throat. In his anguish, he unhinges his jaw, pulling hard against the stitching on his lips with a force that tears them wide open. His scream erupts through the cell like the cry of an untethered beast, from a physical and much more intangible pain. Blood splatters her dress as she stands before him with wide eyes, rimmed with worry and shock. 

“How dare they lay a hand on you?” He screams. Another spray of blood leaves his battered lips. “I’ll kill every last one of them. I’ll kill them!”

She reaches a hand up, dabbing a drawn handkerchief against his bleeding lips. “Hush, my king,” she murmurs, her voice laced with fear. Fear for him, not of him. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“You’re far from okay,” he snarls, snapping at her with his now bared teeth. He can feel the rich blood dripping down his chin, dropping to the dirt to create a morbid mud between his feet. “They branded you. Branded you!”

“I chose this, Loki.” Her voice is suddenly sharp, clear as she holds his face steady to keep his gaze upon her. “I chose this over what they deemed a more... favorable option.”

He narrows his gaze, daring her to speak further. With a sigh, she obeys as she continues her fruitless task of cleaning his lips. “He wanted me,” she tells him. “The Grandmaster. And when I refused him, he gave me this.” Her fingertips trace slow circles around her new tattoo. “Called me the Liar’s Whore.”

He whispers her name, a sort of plea for forgiveness. But he doesn’t need it. Not from her. 

“I am the Liar’s Whore.” She reaches back up to stroke both his horns, to which he lets out a primal growl in approval. She smiles, thoroughly pleased with her new discovery and leans in to kiss his bleeding lips, uncaring of the sick implications such a caress implied. Her once gentle caress quickly turns to violence, powered by a force that meant to bruise them both. The flood of his blood fills their mouths in the torrent mix of teeth and tongue. Until finally, he pulls away. He regards here with malicious intent, eyes wide as he stares at her red, swollen lips. 

“Yes, you are,” he purrs in agreement, breathless from her kiss. “Now act like it.”

She smiles mischievously back at her king before turning her back to him. Held at her mercy, he watches, helplessly aroused, as she lifts the thin remnants of her dress up over her waist, revealing her bare bottom to him. He lets out a deep growl, licking the blood from his lips that continues to pour endlessly from the self-inflicted wound. How he longs to trace his fingertips in painfully slow circles around the globes of her ass. To watch her come undone on his fingers, slipped so perfectly into her tight cunt. To hear her beg for release. By his hand. His mouth. His cock. But for the first time in the balance between master and slave, she has been gifted with control. The reigns tight in her gasp. To take him how she pleases. To torture him if she so desires.

She bends over and presses back against him. Reaching down between her parted thighs, she finds his eager sex awaiting her hand. Posed and at the ready. She guides him toward her wet mound, already dripping down her legs in preparation for impact. She teases herself with the tip, sliding it up and down through her sodden folds. One arm reaches back to wrap around his waist urging him closer. 

“If I didn’t have these damned chains...” he mutters, thrusting his hips into her to give her the friction she desires. He wants to grab her hips so tight she’ll be wearing his bruises for weeks. The mark of his hands another brand against her skin. He wants to fuck her mercilessly until her screams awaken every guard on this godforsaken planet. 

“Maybe I like you like this.” She turns slightly to look at him with a cruel smile before sliding him fully inside of her dripping pussy, sheathing him to the hilt. They both gasp in unison, as if they have forgotten the feking of completion this could provide them both. “Loki,” she moans happily. 

“Say my name again, pet,” he asks, in an uncharacteristically soft plea. 

“Loki... want your cum inside me. Please...”

“In time, my sweet. In time,” he replies. He grips tight onto the chain above him to steady himself. “Use my cock like your own personal toy. Get yourself off on it.”

She quickens her pace as the words leave his bleeding lips. Permission. It’s all she needs. So good. So delightfully obedient even whilst wearing the mask of dominance. Her ass bounces against him with each sinful movement of her hips. Back and forth. His balls slap against her, already tight with another round of overdue release. It won’t take long for him to deliver on his promises.  But he fights the urge to surrender, wanting nothing more than to watch her fall into oblivion with fearless abandon. But he can already feel her pussy clenching tight around his stiff cock. 

“Thats it,” he moans in encouragement. “Good girl. Cum, for me.” 

She leans up, grabbing her own breasts and pinching a nipple between her fingertips. Pulling, she moans deeply and it’s as if her sex is constricting around him, strangling him. Draining him of life. But he leans back against the wall, eyes rolling into his skull as she pants beneath him. _Yes, my darling. Yes. Cum. Cum for your King._

_Your King. Your monster._

He grunts as she trembles around him, quivering in the delight of deliverance. Her body jerks upward and she screams his name in pure ecstasy. Both hands grip back around him and with her permission, he empties himself into her awaiting cunt in several long spurts with her name leaving his lips in a soft, sinful moan. She stands still, her knees shaking beneath her as together they ride the final mind-numbing waves of their mutual destruction. Once her breathing steadies, she carefully slides off his softening cock with an audible sigh at the emptiness that follows. She turns to face him but his eyes are already glued to the apex of her thighs where his milky seed is slowly trickling from deep within her sex. She presses her chest against his until they are both equally coated in his blood. 

“Is this what you’ve been hiding from me all this time?” She whispers, tracing her fingertips along the raised patterns in his flesh. “This skin. These eyes. Gods, Loki. You’re... you’re...” 

“Disgusting? A monster? Don’t lie to me now, pet.”

“Beautiful,” she replies without a moment’s hesitation. 

He stares down at her in disbelief. Beautiful? How could she call him that when she is the one with true beauty?

“To think you’ve kept this from me for so long,” she adds with a small, sad smile. “Your greatest lie...”

“No,” he sighs, shaking his head. “No, not my greatest lie. That would be in denying what has been in front of me this whole time. In denying you.”

Her eyes widen. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I love you, you stupid girl.” He leans down to kiss her again, roughly until she moans in defeat. 

“Loki, I’ve...” Again, she pulls away and he finds her softly sobbing against his chest. Her tears wash away soft streaks of dried blood. 

“Hush now. It doesn’t matter,” he assures but he licks his lips again impatiently before leaning in and tugging on her bottom lip between his teeth until she falls weak against him once more. 

“It does,” she insists and finally her eyes holds steady upon him. “I’ve loved you for so long. And for so long I told myself it was wrong to do so but this...” she traces her hand up to cradle his face once more. “This is all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Then get me out of these chains,” he starts in a growls, eyes heavy with overdue lust. “And I’ll make up for all that lost time tenfold, pet. You’ll forget you ever lived a life before you knew me. Everything else will feel like a beautiful lie.”


	59. Author's Note

As of Dec 17, 2018, **_Trusting a God AU: Training_** has been moved to its own work. Please check it out for further updates! Thank you as always for reading! 


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